


Only Love Can Make A Home

by KassandraScarlett



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Female Sam Winchester, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Requited Unrequited Love, Soulless Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-08
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:27:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 22,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24602371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KassandraScarlett/pseuds/KassandraScarlett
Summary: Soulless Sam seduces Dean and they begin sleeping together, and Dean does his best to hide the fact that he's in love with her.But then Sam gets her soul back and has no memories of what she did while soulless, until her wall breaks and her hallucinations remind her.
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, Lisa Braeden/Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 18
Kudos: 62





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Huge thanks to AnotherWriterWhoWrites (@womanoflettersinthebunker on Tumblr) for helping me through every inch of this story!!!

Another hunt finished. One less monster in the world. Sam wiped the blade of the dagger on a rag in the trunk. The victory felt hollow. Just like every other hunt in the last year. 

“Sam?” 

She looked up at her second cousin. “Yeah?”

Gwen looked tired. “Samuel called just before. He says we’re having a bit of a family reunion. Back at the old base.”

Sam shrugged. She could go. She just didn’t really want to. There wasn’t any particular reason for her to be there, except she was, technically, family. 

“You coming?”

Sam faced North. It was a two day drive from here to Indiana. “No, I’m not,” she said. 

Gwen visibly restrained from rolling her eyes. “Are you really going to spend the weekend mooning over your brother from a distance?” She asked, exasperated. “Seriously, either leave him the fuck alone, or face him directly.”

Sam eyed Gwen curiously. If she had a favorite among the Campbells, it was her. She didn’t take any bullshit and had no compunctions in letting Sam know what she thought, the only one who wasn’t intimidated by her. Sam didn’t quite understand why the others never really looked her in the eye. Even Samuel, who also bossed her around somewhat, sometimes looked at her with a wariness that irked her. 

Sam knew she’d changed since coming back. She knew, even if she didn’t understand. But the Campbells were family. They weren’t Dean, but they were _blood_. They were supposed to accept her, right? She accepted them just fine, after all. She didn’t judge Christian for cheating on his wife, or Tyler’s unhealthy fascination with monster biology. 

“No, I’ll just make everyone there uncomfortable,” she finally said, referring to the Campbells. She got in her car, as Gwen got in hers. “Tell Samuel I’ll check in later.”

Two days later, she was pulling into Cicero. Her black Charger fit in amongst the other suburban residents. But Sam ignored that. All her attention was fixed on Dean, in his own car, idling outside the house he shared with Lisa Braeden. 

Sam took a deep breath and looked her fill. He looked good. Incredibly good. He’d ditched the flannel and tee, switched to more appropriate civilian attire. He was clean-shaven, which softened his jaw line. He was tapping out a tune on the steering wheel, a habit he’d never grown out of despite their father’s best efforts. He seemed to have retained his musculature but his instincts were rusty if he couldn’t feel her scrutiny. Or maybe she’d gotten better at remaining undetected. 

Sam wondered why she hadn’t stopped by sooner, why she’d waited for two months after her last visit. This was her fix, the only addiction she now had. Demon blood made her dependent, weaker, so she hadn’t even bothered trying. But this, watching Dean from afar, it almost made her feel… _Something_. 

Something stirring in her chest that she couldn’t name. Contrarily, the desire sitting heavy in her stomach was easy to identify. 

Dean looked grim, the line of his shoulders was upset. Sam frowned slightly, finding something wrong with the picture, unlike all the previous times when everything had been idyllic and perfect. 

She followed his gaze as best as she could, finding nothing out of the ordinary. But even apart, she trusted Dean’s instincts. She picked up her phone and dialed. “Samuel, have there been any hunts in Indiana?”

“ _Hello to you too_ ,” her grandfather greeted with irritation. “ _We missed you here_.”

Across the street, Dean left his car, began walking towards the house with urgency in his harried steps. 

“Samuel. Hunt. Indiana. Now.”

He sighed over the phone. “ _Yes, kind of. Christian and I have been tracking a small group of Djinns. The nightmare kind. We lost them. Now where are you?_ ” He asked as if he didn’t know the answer. 

Sam surveyed the neighborhood, then looked back at the Braeden's house. Lisa and Ben appeared out the front door, with Dean ushering them into a car. Then he headed towards the garage where she knew the Impala was. 

“I’m in Cicero, Samuel,” she answered. “And I think I find your Djinns.”

“ _Where?_ ”

“In Cicero.”

* * *

_The sun was low on the horizon, setting gradually. Sam and Dean perched on the hood of the Impala, watching it go down._

_“It’s good to have you back,” Sam said abruptly, smiling at him. Grinning, actually. It made her look a few years younger, more like the girl Dean had stolen away from college than the woman who’d died twice and come back._

_Dean couldn’t stop looking at her with wonder. “I should be the one saying that.”_

_She shrugged. “I’ve been back for a year. You, on the other hand…”_

_Dean shrugged too. “Well, in that case, good to be back.” He hesitated. “I missed this. You.”_

_“Yeah?” Her eyes shone as she leaned close to him. “I missed you too.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “So much.”_

_He held his breath._

_She kissed him without warning, gentle and sweet. Dean kissed back on instinct, because this was Sam and he never had learned how to deny her. Her hand rested on his knee, he cupped her face, and it was perfect and Dean-_

Dean woke up with a shiver, feeling a phantom warmth on his lips. 

The room was dark. The clock read 3:17 AM. Lisa was asleep beside him, restful and content. 

Dean took a few deep breaths, willing his wild heart to calm down. The dream was just one of the many variants that he'd had over the last year. Some of them were normal, sure- just the two of them hunting, in the car, arguing over Westerns versus sci-fi. Then there were the ones like this, where they were still siblings, but more, where hugs lasted longer and hands wandered into forbidden territories, where driving in the car turned to making out in the backseat. 

It was his own fault, really. Dean had always loved Sam too much, he knew. He’d always wanted her closer and closer and it still never felt quite enough. It had started right before she’d left for Stanford and Dean really thought he’d gotten over it, had buried all those thoughts deep into some dark, hidden part of himself. 

But Sam’s death had kicked something loose inside him, shaking up all those feelings that Dean had viciously shoved away. He’d lost count of how many nights he'd abruptly woken with his little sister’s name on his lips, while the woman he shared a house with slept on without a clue. 

And now… Now, Sam was back. And Dean was still _here_ , instead of out there with her. Jesus Christ, what was he doing? What if she hurt herself? What if the Campbells, shady as they seemed, didn’t watch her back right? What if she needed him? 

Then again, Sam had been doing fine without Dean for a year. And Dean couldn’t leave Lisa and Ben. He had a responsibility towards them. He had to… 

He stared at Lisa’s face. He loved her, he really did. And he tried to imprint her lovely features in his mind- the pouty lips, the high cheekbones, the beauty spot right by her ear. 

But when he closed his eyes, all he could see was Sam’s smug grin as she’d waited for him to accept her presence, the way her arms wrapped tight around his waist when he’d hugged her to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. 

Dean sighed, groaning softly as he pulled the covers above his head. 

God forbid Sam asked him to go with her one more time; Dean wouldn’t be able to keep denying her. 

And yet… A part of him hoped that she would. 

* * *

“Could you please stop flirting with our witnesses?” Dean snapped, as they left the house behind. 

Sam shot him a testy look. “Hi, Pot, I’m Kettle.”

He scowled. “That’s not funny.”

She got in the car smoothly. He gave her an odd look.

“Are we really going to have the conversation about how many witnesses and other random people we meet on cases you’ve flirted with? Gone a lot further than flirting actually.” 

“Yeah, because I’m me and you’re you,” Dean said, starting to pull out of the driveway. 

“Excuse me?” She asked, raising an eyebrow. Sure, she didn’t feel much of anything these days, but she wasn’t going to put up with sexism. “Are you saying it’s acceptable for a guy to have lots of sex, but if a woman does it, she’s a slut?”

Dean frowned. “No, of course, not.”

“Good. Then what?”

“It’s not the fact that you’re a girl, okay? It’s that you’re _you_. You’re _Sam_. You’ve never been like this before. You could barely accept a drink from a guy without turning red. Hell, you used to be all over my case for this reason.”

Sam stayed quiet for a few minutes. She had to answer carefully, otherwise Dean would be tipped off and she wasn't ready for that yet. “I don’t know,” she said finally. “Ever since getting back, I’ve been… I feel like… Like I need…” Her words petered off. Second-guessing every word out of her mouth was exhausting. But it was an obstacle she had to deal with to keep Dean by her side. 

Dean got a look of regret. “Hey, I get it,” he said softly, patting her knee in comfort. “Remember when I came back from Hell? I was a mess. Drinking, violence, getting laid, the works. It’s a good distraction.” Dean’s hand was warm on her knee. Sam looked down at it until Dean removed it. “I’m just worried that you don’t want to talk about it since the touchy-feely crap is kinda your thing. But honestly, do whatever makes you feel better. Hell, you wanna smoke weed and have a wild orgy, go for it.”

Sam took a deep breath, watching him quietly. “You mean, as long as I let you watch?” She asked, with a straight face. 

Dean choked on air, nearly swerving the car. 

Sam laughed lightly. Thankfully, she was still capable of humor. “Thanks, Dean. You’re right. It’s… It’s exactly that. Distraction.” As Dean stretched his arm out along the top of the seat, his knuckles brushed against the back of her neck. Sam held back a shiver at his touch, more out of habit and the wish to not freak Dean out than any actual shame.

* * *

Dean woke drenched in sweat and gasping for a breath, a scream stuck on the tip of his tongue. 

“Bad dream?” Sam asked. 

He started, looked up at her staring at him over her laptop. She kept her face carefully blank, but there was a predatory hunger in her chest. She wondered if he could tell that she’d been watching him sleep. She hoped not. There was sure to be something morally wrong about watching someone writhe and moan under a nightmare and getting aroused by it. If it even _had_ been a nightmare. Wires did tend to get crossed in the subconscious. 

“Yeah,” he said, voice hoarse, as he threw off the covers and got to his feet. 

“Lisa?” She asked, only mildly curious. 

He paused, momentarily. “Yeah.”

She hadn’t actually expected that answer. Sam frowned. Did Dean really miss that woman? Or the idea of _normal family life_ that she represented? 

Dean stared at her, something like fear and panic on his face, before disappearing into the bathroom. 

_Hmm_. Or maybe, Dean was lying about his nightmare. 

Sam thought about earlier in the day. About the heat of Dean’s palm, the lazy desire for his hand to travel a little higher. About the flash of unguarded emotions that had just crossed Dean’s face, emotions that she was unable to decipher, except guilt. 

Determined to test her theory, Sam waited for Dean to come back out. If she was right, nothing better. If she was wrong, then she could pass it off with the same excuse Dean had unknowingly given her: that she was off-kilter and wanted comfort. That was believable, right? 

She didn’t have to wait long. Dean came out, wiping his face with his tee, and made a beeline for his bed. Before he could get under the covers, Sam left the desk behind and joined him, sitting cross-legged so they were facing each other. 

Dean tensed, his eyes flickering down to her denim-covered thighs and calves. “Get off my bed, Sam. I want to sleep.”

“Tell me what you dreamt about,” she said instead. 

Dean tensed further. “I told you, it was Lisa-”

“You're lying,” she stated. 

Dean made a noise of frustration. “Okay, fine, it wasn’t a nightmare, happy? It was… It was a good dream and it was about Lisa.”

He wasn’t meeting her eyes. Sam leaned forward, shifting to her haunches. Dean tried to pull back, but there was nowhere to go, so he was frozen in place as she came close enough to feel his breath. 

“About Lisa?” She asked again.

His eyes wide, he nodded. 

Sam hummed. “You miss her?”

He swallowed, nodded again. 

She leaned closer. “Want a distraction?”

His lips parted, half in surprise, half in desire. “Sam, what… What are you doing?” He asked in a whisper. 

Sam decided to go for it. Without giving him time to think, she pressed her lips to his. 

Dean gasped, hands flaying momentarily before landing on her waist. She thought he’d push her off but he didn’t, just held on, groaning into her mouth as she clambered onto his lap, her hands tangling into his hair. Dean wasn’t kissing back, not really, but he wasn’t fighting, too shocked to do anything but be pliant under her touch. And that was a heady feeling, but she _wanted_ him to participate. Wanted him to want _her_. 

“Dean, come on,” she growled over his jaw. 

Her words broke the spell. Dean’s grip tightened and Sam only had the split second warning before she was being wrenched away, her arms forced behind her back and her wrists clasped together by Dean’s hands. 

“What?” She asked, breathless. 

Dean stared at her, eyes brimming with too many emotions that she couldn’t identify. “What are you doing?” He asked. 

She raised an eyebrow, her lips curling up into a seductive smirk. “Making something that we both want happen?”

He shook his head. “Why would you think I want this? You’re my sister!”

She shrugged, best as she could with the way she was restrained. She could free herself anytime she wanted and they both knew it. “Just an instinct.” It was the truth. Her instincts had never been sharper as after waking up in Stull Cemetery a year ago. She may not be able to figure out feelings, but she could read physical cues just fine, better than she ever could. And right now, the way Dean was determinedly not letting his eyes stray from her face, the way he was holding himself stiff, it all pointed to one thing- he did want her. 

But Dean shook his head again. “No. No, Sam. You… We can’t.”

She snorted. “Says who? Dad? He’s dead. Bobby? I doubt it would bother him. Lisa?” She cocked her head at him testily. “You really think you’re ever gonna see her again? You really think her opinion actually matters? In the long run, she’s nothing.”

Dean’s expression shifted to anger. “Don’t talk about her like that,” he warned coldly. 

_Shit_. Sam had gone too far with that. She relaxed, trying to soften her own features. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean that. It’s just… You want me, Dean. I don’t know if you always have or if it’s a new thing. I don’t know if it’s because you miss Lisa or because you missed me. I don’t know and I don’t care.” 

Dean’s grip had loosened as she spoke and she bowed her head slightly, the movement pushing her hips forward. He bit his lips on a groan, eyes fluttering but ultimately staying on her. 

“The fact is that you want me,” Sam whispered. “And I want you. So, why are we acting like blushing teenagers?”

For a second, she thought Dean was going to give in. Then he was flipping their positions so she was on her back and he scrambled off. “I’m going for a walk,” he announced. “When we get back, we are never talking about this again.”

Sam frowned as he walked out the motel room. Alright, so being straight with Dean wasn’t going to do anything. She needed to try something else. 

Well, whatever was wrong with her, it had left her even more stubborn and determined than before. She wasn’t going to force Dean into anything. She wouldn’t have to. 

But she wasn’t going to let this go either. Not when he obviously wanted it. 

Time for plan B, then. 

* * *

There was something different about Sam, different from what Dean remembered. Her hair had grown out just a little, swept off her forehead, leaving her eyes clearly visible. She had more muscle, she was standing straighter… 

Dean could go on listing the changes, all the things he’d noticed since getting back to the hunt with her, but there was still something he couldn’t put his finger on. 

The thing that threw him the most about her? It was her sudden comfort with her body, her sensuality. It was her cocky smirk and doe eyes and the way she was practically oozing promiscuity. 

Sam had always turned heads when she put the effort in, but now, it was unrestrained. The woman who’d been oblivious and shy of herself in every way, always hiding beneath layers of cotton and plaid, had been replaced by an expert seductress who could give Dean a run for his money. 

Dean didn’t know what to do with this. He was happy if she was, and he understood if it was just her way of not thinking about the Cage, but… 

What had happened… Nearly happened… A few nights ago… 

Dean couldn’t get it out of his head. Sam’s familiar hands wandering down his chest in an unfamiliar way, her lips moving against his with a confidence he’d never have expected in that situation. 

It was driving him nuts. 

And now, Sam was next to him, at a bar, papers of research laid out in front of them as they tried to work out what they were hunting. 

And she wasn’t focusing.

“Sam, for the last time,” he groaned. “Pay attention. And stop making eyes at that guy.”

“I am paying attention, Dean,” Sam answered primly. Like he was blind to the way she was biting into her bottom lip, or the way she tilted her head to the side to keep the long line of her throat exposed. 

“Uh, no, you’re not,” Dean groused. He ignored the sick feeling curling in his chest that told him he was jealous and the tightness in his chest, urging him to do something about it. 

“Hi, there!” The guy Sam had been looking at suddenly stood at their table. 

Sam smiled back, expertly covering up their research with a large hand. “Hi.”

The man was good looking enough, Dean could admit it grudgingly. He was tall, charming, with a shock of jet-black hair and bright blue eyes, and crinkles that suggested he smiled a lot. The long grey military-style overcoat he wore emphasized his broad shoulders. And he was grinning at Sam like she was the best thing since sliced bread. It was the kind of grin that Dean himself had given to countless girls countless times. 

“I’m Jack,” the guy said, holding out a hand. 

“Sam.” 

Jack turned to Dean. “And, who’re you, gorgeous?” 

Dean blinked. _Oh_. “Dean, flattered, not interested.”

Sam opened her mouth to say something. 

“And my sister and I really need to get back,” he cut in. 

Jack didn’t seem insulted. He just grinned lasciviously and threw his hands up in a placating gesture. “Sorry. I’ll leave you guys to it, then. But I’ll be here tomorrow too, so…” He threw a wink at Sam. “Come find me if you change your mind.”

He went off and Sam turned to Dean with annoyance. “What the hell, Dean?” She snapped. “You can’t just stop me from hooking up just because… _Why_ are you stopping me?”

Dean ignored her. 

With a huff, Sam pushed away from the small table and stalked off. 

Dean groaned, gathering up the research and stuffing it in a bag. Trying to think of an excuse fast enough, he hurried after her. He caught up to her outside in the parking lot. “Sam-”

“No,” she warned, a perfect poker face again. “I know you think I’m some sort of impulse-driven idiot, but I’m not. Just because I’m back from Hell doesn’t mean that I’ve lost all my brain cells.”

Dean felt his own anger rise, responding to Sam’s stubbornness like it always did. “That’s not what this is about,” he spoke through grit teeth. Christ, couldn’t she see that he was dying inside at the thought of getting into bed with her when she clearly only wanted it out of attraction, not… _Feelings_? And yet… 

“Well, then, what, Dean? What possible reason could you have-?”

Dean kissed her without thinking, harsh and unforgiving, just wanting to wipe that blank mask from her features and get her to stop sounding so superior, so then maybe he wouldn’t spill his own secrets to her. 

It hit him exactly five seconds later just how stupid that was. 

He almost pushed her away, breaking the kiss, feeling his face heat up. “That wasn't… Sam, I… I'm sor-” Then he spotted the smugness in her eyes. “You planned that,” he accused. 

She raised an eyebrow. “And?”

He glowered, really just furious at himself for not seeing this coming. Had he really thought she'd give up just because he’d rejected her once? 

“Sam, we can't,” he tried to argue. But it didn’t hold much weight when he had one arm wrapped around her waist, keeping her close to his chest. “It’s not…” Her skin was a little cold, he noted absently. 

“If you say that it’s wrong, I will castrate you,” Sam said, perfectly even and confident. He had no problem believing her. 

Dean tried, for one brief moment, to think about Lisa, who loved him, was waiting for him at the new house, who had saved Dean from himself.

But her face was hazy in his head when Sam was right here, crystal clear, alive and mostly fine, looking up at him with invitation unmistakable in her hot gaze.

Dean kissed her again and this time, he didn't stop. 

Sam kissed back, rough and demanding, fingernails scratching at the back of his neck. 

He held her tighter, threading his fingers into her hair and tugging sharply, making her arch into him. 

She retaliated, teeth dragging over his lips, hips rolling smoothly against his in a way that would have had his knees buckling if it weren’t for the car at his back- when the fuck had Sam pinned him? 

“Get a room, you two!” The catcall and the hollers broke them apart. 

Sam’s face was flushed, her mouth red and swollen. Dean was sure he looked the same. 

“Drive us to the motel,” Sam ordered, voice low and breathless. 

Dean nodded, getting into the driver's seat. As Sam’s nimble fingers danced up his thigh, teasing too close to his erection, he prayed they would make it back to the motel in one piece. 

* * *

They didn’t talk the next day. Dean was pale-faced, barely looking at her, lips pursed tight enough that Sam knew better than to ask. 

The case was pretty open and shut. Find the grave. Dig it up. Salt and burn. A milk run. 

Then, Dean said, “I wanna go visit Lisa.”

Sam couldn’t pretend that it didn’t sting a little bit, just a blow to her pride, that even after last night, Dean wanted to return to Lisa. Maybe she wouldn’t go so far as to call it jealousy. So she nodded. “Sure.”

They didn’t talk on the drive, Dean blasting Metallica loud enough that a conversation wouldn’t be possible. When they pulled up in front of the new house Lisa and Dean had, just in time for him to have lunch with his _family_ , he finally looked at her. 

“I’m probably gonna stay the night,” he informed her. He was wearing sunglasses, so his eyes were hidden, but his voice was hesitant and unsure. “You… Are you gonna… If you want…?”

It seemed to physically pain him to invite her to stay as well, so Sam let him off the hook. “No, it’s okay. I’ll go visit Samuel. Probably get a motel.”

Dean nodded, relief loosening his shoulders. “You’ll be driving all night?”

She shrugged. She hadn’t told him about the not-sleeping thing yet, but it wasn’t as if they’d never gone without any shut-eye before. 

“Take the car,” Dean suggested. “Come and pick me up tomorrow morning?”

Sam stretched and got out of the car. Dean did the same and she walked over to his side. “Yeah, that’ll do,” she agreed, taking the keys.

Dean’s eyes flitted to where their hands met. Sam momentarily considered kissing him, just a quick peck to see how he’d react. But she could feel the weight of someone’s eyes on her and knew without looking that Lisa was watching them from the window. Dean would be upset if she tried something now.

So she slid into the driver’s seat, putting her own sunglasses on. She didn't have to check the mirrors to know Dean watched her drive away. 

* * *

Dean took a deep breath. The car disappeared from view and he could relax a little. He turned to walk up to the front door. It opened before he could knock and Lisa was there, smiling widely at him. Dean didn’t think before pulling her to himself in a tight hold, kissing her slow and sweet. Lisa walked them backwards, Dean kicked the door close. 

Lisa broke the kiss. “Welcome back,” she whispered. 

Dean smiled wanly, hiding in her hair. He breathed her in, trying to banish the sense memories of Sam’s lithe body moving against his and the vanilla scent of her shampoo. 

“Where’s Ben?” He asked, if only to stop feeling guilty for some time. 

Lisa looked upstairs. “He’s doing his homework, probably hasn’t heard you come, so you can surprise him. And then,” she added suggestively. “Maybe we could have an early dinner, have dessert in the bedroom?”

Dean laughed lightly, feeling some of the tension leave him as Lisa rolled her eyes at her own cheesy line. “Looks like I had some influence on you after all,” he teased. 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Lisa took his hand. “So how long are you staying?”

Dean sighed. “Just the night. Sam’s coming to pick me up tomorrow.” And just like that, he was thinking of Sam again. Fucking hell, what had gotten into him last night? 

Lisa’s hand on his cheek brought him back to the present. “Is everything okay?” She asked, brow furrowed in concern. 

Dean shook his head. “Of course,” he lied. What could he say anyway? _Sorry Lisa, I cheated on you with my little sister?_ Yeah, that would be a pleasant conversation. “I’m just a little tired. We’re just returning from a case.”

Lisa nodded, understanding. “Sam is staying somewhere else?” 

Dean nodded, following her up the stairs. 

“She didn’t mind? I mean, she could have stayed here, it wouldn’t have been a bother.” 

“No, she has someone to check in with and then she’ll find a motel,” he assured. 

Lisa shrugged. Dean wondered if that was relief that had briefly passed over her features. 

That night, as Lisa pulled him to the bed, straddling him and kissing him like she had a point to prove, Dean tried desperately not to think about Sam. 

He wasn’t too keen on examining his success. 

* * *

Lisa woke early, just in time to hear the low rumble of a car. It was instantly recognizable as Dean’s. Next to her in bed was the man himself. He stirred as well, subconsciously reacting to the sound. 

“Sammy?” He called out, eyes crinkling even though they stayed closed. 

Lisa felt herself frown slightly. “Go back to sleep,” she murmured. “I’ll go and let her in.” 

Dean complied, settling back in. Good. He needed his sleep. Sam could just wait for some time. 

She pulled on a gown and headed downstairs to the garage. Sure enough, there was Sam Winchester, hopped up on the hood, looking at something on her phone. 

She looked up as Lisa entered. “Hi. Sorry if I’m intruding. Dean and I had agreed I’d come to get him early morning.”

Lisa raised an eyebrow. “You’re a little too early. He’s still sleeping.”

Sam stared back, lips curved in a pleasant smile. “Oh, he’ll be up soon. I’ll just wait here.”

Lisa was tempted to let her do just that. She wasn’t sure what it was, but something about Sam made her skin prickle. Maybe it was the way she always radiated danger, no matter how relaxed she seemed. Maybe it was how her smile remained fixed and didn’t falter once. It was quite unlike the first time they’d met, a few years ago. The Sam of then had been sweet and a little shy, soft and visibly kind. This Sam was… Not that. 

Lisa liked to think she was secure enough not to be jealous of her boyfriend’s sister. Which meant she wasn’t going to be rude. And besides, Dean did have a habit of sleeping in as much as he could. Sam really would have to wait. 

“You can come in,” she offered, as graciously as she could.

Sam’s smile didn’t change. She slid off the hood, waiting for Lisa to lead the way. She did and, for every step they took, she could feel the stare on the back of her neck. 

They walked into the kitchen. Ben was up as well, getting ready for school. “Hey, mom. Can I-?” He stuttered to a stop, eyes going comically wide as he caught sight of their guest. “S-Sam? Miss Sam?!”

Lisa rolled her eyes. “Yes, this is Sam. She’s here to pick Dean up. Now eat your cereal.”

Sam slid into a seat at the table, deliberately brushing past Lisa. She shivered, wondering if she’d imagined the coldness of Sam’s fingers. Ben did as instructed, but his eyes never left Sam. 

“You’re super tall,” he observed. 

Lisa glared at him, ready to admonish his rudeness. 

But Sam nodded. “Yes, I am.”

“Will you bring Dean back after you’re done with… Your job?” Ben asked, guileless. 

Lisa, in the process of making coffee, stilled, wanting to hear the answer. 

Sam seemed to be considering. “If he wants me to,” she spoke slowly. “Then, yes, I’ll bring him back here. For some time.”

Was that a warning? That no matter how many times Dean came back to visit her and Ben, he wouldn’t really _be_ here? That it would always be temporary and nothing more? 

Ben didn’t read into any of this. He was precocious, but still young. “Hey, can I see your gun?” He asked, in a hushed whisper. 

“Ben!” Lisa called warningly. 

Sam shook her head with a small smile. “Dean wouldn’t be happy with that. Or your mom, looks like.”

Lisa relaxed. At least, Sam seemed to be responsible enough not to entertain Ben’s newfound fascination with firearms. 

“They’re not the boss of you,” Ben tried.

That made Sam laugh, as if she was slightly startled by his insistence. “No can do. And Dean does like to think he’s my boss, sometimes.”

Just then, there was the sound of harried footsteps down the stairs. Dean skidded to a stop, freezing at the sight that greeted him. 

“I, uh, I thought I heard your voice,” he said, eyes fixed on Sam. He looked breathless, hair sticking up and every which way, tee-shirt rumpled. 

Sam shrugged, looking back at him with the same focus. “Just came in a few minutes ago. You ready to move? Found a wendigo case in Boise.”

“Should be a milk run,” Dean agreed, easily. “Okay, let me get showered and we can get breakfast on the road-”

“Or,” Lisa interrupted loudly. “You can take half an hour to eat breakfast here before leaving.”

Dean spared her a quick glance, before tipping his chin at his sister. Sam, turned away from her, made a gesture Lisa couldn’t see.

Dean finally turned to her, wearing a small smile. “Thanks, Lis,” he said gratefully. “That’d be awesome.”

He kissed her once on her cheek, ruffled Ben’s hair, then started to head back upstairs. Lisa watched him pause once to look back at Sam, who was already looking at him. Some unrecognizable emotion flashed through his face before he turned around and went on his way. 

Lisa went back to fixing breakfast. She could no longer feel Sam’s scrutiny. She didn’t think about how Dean had barely looked at her, how nearly all his attention had been on his sister.

So maybe she did feel a little insecure around Sam. But what really stung was the realization that Sam didn't see her as a threat at all, or even a competition. 

Lisa didn't want to think about that either. 

* * *

Dean could count down the seconds before Sam made a move. About as soon as they left Cicero behind, Sam pounced. “Do you wanna talk about it? That night?”

Dean threw her a withering glare. “Oh, I wasn’t aware you wanted to talk. Isn’t it your new philosophy not to?”

“I said I didn’t want to talk about the Cage,” Sam said calmly. “Not that I don’t wanna talk about anything. There’s a difference.”

Dean snorted. 

“Look, I don’t understand why you’re so upset,” Sam said, sounding genuinely puzzled. “I told you, there’s no one to tell us it’s wrong. We both wanted it and we’re both fully informed consenting adults-”

“Please, shut the fuck up,” Dean groaned, resisting the urge to bang his head on the steering wheel. 

Sam frowned. “No. Not until you tell me what the problem here is.”

It wasn’t a hardship to guess the problem. It was simply that Dean didn’t think he could handle the emotional consequences of sleeping with his sister and not letting slip that he was maybe just a little bit in love with her. It wasn’t right and what they’d done two nights ago wasn’t right either. Sam might say she wanted it, but Dean… What if she’d seen something in his eyes, seen how desperate and broken he was for her? 

Sam was still waiting for an answer and Dean couldn’t tell her the truth. “Because I love Lisa,” he said quietly. “Because I can’t betray her trust like this.”

That, surprisingly, shut Sam up. He chanced a look at her, found her staring ahead with a strange expression, like she couldn’t decide how to reply. 

“Oh,” she mumbled. “Okay. I guess. I mean, I’m not… I didn’t think that was serious. But, yeah, alright. I get it, I think. Okay.”

She sounded unsure, Dean thought. Off-balance. And, weirdly, more like the Sam he remembered from before. It gave him whiplash, but there was nothing he could say to her right now. 

* * *

It was almost a month after their ‘ _tryst_ ' when his resolve broke. Dean would really like it on record that it wasn't his own fault. It wasn't Sam's either, sure, but… 

He had relaxed again, glad that Sam hadn’t made a move towards him even once. Dean thought, in fact, that she was being remarkably accommodating about it. If she’d been upset, he would have felt guilty. At the same time, her indifference hurt. Had that night really meant so little to her, whereas Dean still beat himself up for being so weak when he thought about it? 

“Harpies are venomous and the antidote isn’t something that can be stored,” Sam was saying. “So, Samuel packed the ingredients for me, they’re in the trunk. You remember how to mix them?”

Dean nodded. “It takes a short time to spread, doesn't it? The venom?”

“Yeah, about two minutes within being bitten,” Sam confirmed. “During a hunt, that’s a really small buffer time. If we get infected, we’ll have to work fast.” She reached around for the bag in the backseat, pulling out two blades. “Bronze daggers,” she said, handing one to him. “Stab ‘em in the heart.”

In hindsight, Dean should have known something would go wrong. It seemed the Winchesters were the very personification of Murphy's Law. 

The nest had holed up in a drafty old cabin, a former rest stop for hunters, as Samuel had explained to Sam. He hadn’t had a chance to come over himself yet, so when he heard Sam and Dean would be passing through, he’d asked for a favor. 

They went in quiet, knowing they would be in more danger if the harpies were alerted to their approach, as wicked fast as they were. 

There were around twelve of them, all ugly, feathered and withered-looking, like Disney villains, ruffling their wings in their sleep. 

Dean reached for the one that was a little apart from the others and stabbed its heart. 

There was a screeching noise as it woke, only to die, and it woke the rest too. In less than a second, they were attacking, teeth and talons snapping viciously, some flying at their heads to blind them, some running around their feet to try and trip them. This was how harpies liked to fight: by creating chaos and confusion. 

Dean kicked one away from himself, slashing at the air to try and injure the creatures. If their wings were cut off, it made them less dangerous and a little easier to finish off. 

He was also dimly aware of Sam fighting beside him, all athletic grace and strength, as she unconsciously showed off her dexterity with blades, having always preferred them to guns. If Dean weren’t busy defending himself and keeping an eye on her out of concern, he’d have taken the chance to just admire her. 

If he had, he might have been able to save her. 

But he was too focused on the harpy currently flapping its wings in his face and he only heard Sam’s yell of, “Dean, look out!” when it was too late. 

He stabbed the harpy midair, there was a breathy sound of pain and Dean turned on his heel, heart already jumping out of his chest as he stabbed the last harpy in one smooth parry. 

Then he fell to the ground, where Sam lay wheezing in pain. 

“Sammy, hey, it’s okay, you-” He tapered off in horror. The shoulder of Sam’s clothes were torn, revealing the mark of pointed teeth, stark white against her tanned skin. “Fuck,” he gasped, frozen for a second. 

Then Sam groaned. “D'n…”

And Dean’s mind kicked into gear, controlled by the most basic drive he had: _Look after Sammy._

In an instant, he was pocketing both their knives and scooping Sam into his arms, bridal-style. She hissed in pain and he ignored it as best as he could, carrying her out to the car. _Two minutes_ , he reminded himself, laying Sam in the backseat. He threw the trunk open, found the little pouch with a bunch of ingredients and a mortar and pestle. There was a bleeding cut on his wrist, where he’d been scratched, but he ignored it, mashing the herbs together as fast he could. When it was done, he knelt beside the car. 

“Sammy, hey, wake up,” he coaxed. “Come on, come on, sweetheart, please, you gotta drink this.”

Maybe she stirred, maybe she didn’t, but Dean gently force-fed the mixture into her mouth with shaking hands and she swallowed on instinct. 

“Okay, okay, good.” For a minute or so, Dean gripped her shoulders and hugged her unconscious body to himself, breathing her in, trying to get his heart to slow down and his hands to steady themselves. 

He thought back to the fight inside, to that moment he’d heard her warning. He’d been fighting off a harpy, Sam had yelled out, then… Then there had been a hand on his back for the briefest of moments, like a light shove, followed by a sound of pain. 

Dean took a shaky breath. Sam had intercepted the last harpy and gotten bit by it to _save him._

* * *

Sam woke up to a familiar ceiling. Samuel’s bunker. There was an itch under her skin, her whole body. _Harpy venom_ , she remembered. Looked like Dean had administered the cure in time. 

Speaking of… She turned her head slightly. Dean’s face was inches from her own, watching her warily and with concern. 

“Hey,” he said, sounding a little wrecked. 

Sam blinked, confused at the closeness. “Hey,” she rasped. He sat up immediately, reaching to the desk behind him to grab a water bottle. He offered it to her, steadying her hands and helping her to sit up. “Thanks,” she murmured. “How long have I been out?”

“15 hours,” Dean replied too quickly. “I brought you here to Samuel, figured it'd be better than some shady motel.” He paused. 

Sam waited, puzzled. Why did Dean look like that? So… Guilty? 

“What were you thinking?” Dean asked, in a hot whisper. “Getting bitten like that?”

Sam frowned. “I was trying to save you,” she said slowly. “That’s what we do, right?”

Dean shook his head vehemently. “No!” He cried. “Not like that, you can’t! You can't risk your own life and nearly die, especially not for me.”

Sam rubbed at her temple. “No offense, Dean,” she said. “But you’re being a hypocrite. You can't sell your soul for someone and expect them not to take that as an example.”

Dean sputtered. “That isn’t- Sam!” 

“What?” She snapped back. “You’re my brother. Of course, I’d do anything to save you, it’s what we do. And you know this. So don’t you dare tell me that what I did was wrong!”

For a second, Dean just stared at her. Then, he leaned forward and kissed her. 

Sam didn’t waste time thinking, just kissed back. Dean's lips were trembling softly as she traced their shape with her tongue and he curled his hand around the side of her neck, thumb pressing into her pulse. 

Dean broke away, staring at her wildly. “I know, I know I said that we can’t do this,” he whispered. “But you’re not- I just- I…” He took a deep shuddering breath.

Sam wondered why she couldn’t guess what he was trying to say, when she used to be able to read him in a single glance before.

“Is this okay?” Dean finally settled on, jaw clenched in anticipation of her answer. 

Sam didn’t know why he thought she would say anything but ‘ _yes_.’ It was just sex and this was just _them_ and they’d always been perfectly in-sync with each other through everything, so why not this too? 

So she nodded and kissed him again.


	2. Chapter 2

It had been a tiring drive. They'd gotten to their room pretty late and they had what seemed to be a pretty confusing case up ahead, something about people being forced into telling all sorts of harsh truths. 

Dean had barely been able to stand upright, so with just a soft kiss, Sam had pretended to fall asleep. Really, she was watching _Dean_ sleep. 

It was just after sunrise now and, with the curtains shut tight, only a sliver of light entered the room. It was enough for Sam to be able to trace with her eyes the freckles across Dean’s skin, on his shoulders, below his collarbones. 

It was a weird fascination, she knew it. It was something she’d done with a soul. But she was doing it now too and it was… Peaceful. Calming. Being able to take in every facet of Dean’s form, with his arm a comfortable weight around her waist. 

There was the light buzzing of a phone. Dean’s phone. Sam grabbed it before he woke up at the sound. After ringing for a minute, it stopped. Sam managed to tear her eyes away for Deam for a second, to check who’d called and if it was important. 

The name _**Ben Braeden**_ flashed across the screen.

So, Lisa was still ghosting Dean, as he’d told her, after the vampire incident, but the kid had apparently rebelled against his mom’s wish and called. 

What was he, ten? Rebelling at that age took guts. 

Sam pursed her lips, staring at the screen. After a moment of hesitation, and a smidge of guilt that was wiped off by a glance at Dean’s sleeping form, she deleted Ben’s name from the call log. Better not to take any chances. 

* * *

Sam woke up to find herself tied to a chair, with Dean standing in front of her, staring down at her blankly with his arms crossed, as she blinked up at him blearily. His knuckles were tinted pink-red. Her blood, she realized, the pain across the middle of her face registering. He’d punched her twice, she recalled. He’d knocked her out. 

She almost felt hurt. At least, she _thought_ she did. But she understood why Dean was upset. And that… That she felt guilty about. Guilt was an emotion she recognized. Maybe because she’d experienced too much of it. 

Then, Cas started asking questions: fever, tongues, and whatnot. 

“What, are you diagnosing me?” She asked, incredulously. 

“How much do you sleep?” Cas asked, ignoring her question. 

She shrugged, best as she could. “I don’t.”

“At all?”

“Not since I got back.”

Dean pinched the bridge of his nose, like he was trying to stave off frustration. “And you didn’t think that _maybe_ that was a sign that something was wrong?”

Sam looked at him askance. Seriously, _she_ was the one tied up but _he_ was the one asking stupid questions. “Of course, I did, Dean,” she insisted. “I just… Didn’t tell you.”

Cas took over before Dean could express his obvious anger. _Good_. He needed to learn how to control his emotions anyway. 

“How are you feeling, Sam?” The angel asked. 

She made a face, crossing her eyes to look down at her nose. “I feel like my nose is broken.”

“That’s a physical sensation,” Cas refuted. “How do you feel?”

“Uh, I think-”

“ _Feel_.” Cas' voice was stern. 

She could feel Dean watching her, with almost bated breath. She tried to think about Cas' question, she really did, but she couldn’t tell what she was feeling. Hadn’t been able to for over a year. “I… Don’t know,” she mumbled. “I don’t know.”

Dean stared. Cas regarded her with a cool gaze. Then he sighed. With quick movements, he took off his belt. “This is going to be unpleasant,” he warned. 

“Wh- what are you…?”

“Bite down on this,” he told her gently, placing the belt in her mouth.

She obeyed, clamping her teeth around the leather. She felt almost afraid now, eyes flitting to Dean because surely he would stop Cas from hurting her, which he was obviously about to do. But Dean didn’t make a move and Sam wondered if she could hate him for that. If she was even allowed to. Family weren’t supposed to hate each other, right? Not family like her and Dean, at least. 

“If you have someplace you find soothing, you should go there. In your mind.” Cas placed one hand on her shoulder, gripping tightly, like he was bracing her. 

Then he plunged his hand into her sternum. Sam seized up. Cas’ hand was Devil-cold, his Grace freeze-burning her insides. She thrashed, held in place by Cas' steadfast hold. She _screamed_ , never mind that she’d surely felt worse pain than this in the Cage. Somewhere in the back of her mind, untouched by the pain, she thought that maybe Dean was punishing her for lying. Like he’d punished her for the demon blood.

Finally it stopped. Sam didn’t open her eyes. Cas had stepped away, taking his belt back. She went limp, head lolling forward as she panted, trying to catch her breath. 

“Well?” She heard Dean ask, rough and unsteady. “What’s wrong with her?”

“Physically, she’s perfectly healthy,” Cas spoke slowly.

“Then?”

Sam looked up with an effort, just in time to see Cas avert his gaze, not really meeting Dean’s eyes. 

“It’s her soul,” he said quietly. “It’s missing.”

* * *

Samuel looked up from his work, seeing his granddaughter step back in. She was alone this time, her belligerent brother left behind. Thank goodness. Samuel didn’t think he could take much more of that cocky, know-it-all attitude. 

“What is it, Sam?” He asked, trying to keep his voice level. He rubbed a hand over his chest as he spoke, still feeling the burning ache where the angel had shoved his hand in. 

Sam’s eyes followed the movement and, almost unconsciously, she raised a hand halfway, before dropping it. 

“I want in,” she said, out of the blue. 

“In?”

She shrugged. “The interrogations and everything. Whatever’s going on. I wanna be a part of it.”

Samuel studied her, careful. She didn’t look a lot like Mary. Didn’t even act like her, really. Except maybe the part about running off to Stanford for the apple-pie life. Now _that_ was extremely Mary-like of her. And then there was the stubborn as hell attitude, of course. And, looking closely, while she had John Winchester’s coloring, the shape of her face was like Mary’s. And her eyes… They were so similar to Deanna, it made Samuel lose his breath. 

_Hmm_. Maybe Sam was more familiar to him than he'd cared to admit. 

Maybe that’s why he’d taken a liking to her, as much as she scared him at times. 

But he also knew her loyalty lay first with her brother. 

“Not until you get your soul back, Sam,” he told her, trying to be gentle. Because she did make a good addition to the team and she and Gwen were formidable together. But mentioning her brother would be a foolish step. He didn’t put it past her to put a bullet in him just for implying that he didn’t trust Dean. 

“Okay.” She nodded, giving in easily. Too easily. Samuel watched her go back out the door and wished he didn’t feel relief at not being in her vicinity. 

* * *

Sometimes, Dean wondered why he even bothered trying to be happy. It always blew up in his face. 

He and Sam had been sleeping together for, what, a couple months now? The guilt Dean felt for cheating on Lisa grew smaller and smaller with every kiss and ever touch of Sam’s skin on his. He was still _so_ gone on her, so _crazily_ in love with her, that he’d convinced himself there was nothing off about her. Of course, she didn’t feel the same way and it was only physical for her _(and Dean would be damned if he let her know the truth)_ , but there were times when… When she seemed to reciprocate. When she’d stay curled up into his side all night, when she sometimes smiled at him like she didn’t know he was looking, when she’d clam up the slightest bit whenever Lisa’s name came up. 

But Dean, hunter extraordinaire, who’d never lost his swagger or confidence in front of any monsters, was too fucking scared of losing what he did have to ask Sam for sure. And if silence meant he could have her close every damn night, skin on skin and wrapped up in each other? He’d happily suffer a half-broken heart. 

But, as he’d often noticed before, his life just wasn’t really meant to be a happy one. 

Because apparently, Sam wasn’t really Sam. No, _Sammy_ had become _robo-Sam_. No feelings. No emotions. No understanding of them, either. 

He’d been sleeping with a shell. This Sam didn’t even care that he was her _brother_ , forget anything more.

Right now, they had found a motel, having left Samuel’s base and decided to play along with Crowley’s game. 

They settled into the room in complete silence, working around each other with the same ease they’d had their whole lives. Sam drew the salt lines and the sigils. Dean unpacked their stuff. “You can take the shower,” he said gruffly, trying not to look at her. “You're covered in blood.”

“Okay.”

She disappeared into the bathroom, taking her clothes with her. Dean sat on the edge of the bed, burying his face in his palms. Fucking hell, how was he going to fix this? They’d never been in this kind of situation. Even when Sam had been on demon blood, Dean had never doubted that she still cared about him. But this... 

He was already out of his jeans and in loose sweatpants when Sam came back out, hair dark and wet, skin flushed slightly from the hot water. Dean kept his back to her, rummaging around in his duffel for a tee. 

He could feel her approach, could almost sense electricity zapping between them, amplified by the silence and solitude. 

The room felt small, air thick with tension. 

He froze when he felt her hand between his shoulder blades, fingertips tracing lightly over his bare skin. 

“Sam, stop,” he whispered. 

“Dean, you know, this doesn’t have to be a bad thing.”

He turned then, trying to remain unfazed at their proximity, glaring at her. “We’re not doing this,” he growled. “We never should have.”

“Why?” Sam asked, narrowing her eyes at him. “Because I don’t have a soul?”

Dean stared at her incredulously. “Yes, because you don’t have a soul,” he replied, tone dripping with sarcasm. “You’re not _you_. You’re just… A body and a brain. Sam wouldn’t ever have wanted… That.”

Sam frowned. She looked confused, unsure. Like she wanted to argue but didn’t know how. It made Dean’s stomach clench; even the possibility that he was wrong and the real Sam would have wanted this, wanted _him_ … 

“Maybe not,” Sam conceded, making Dean swallow back the sweet hope. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not her. We’re not separate. I’m still _Sam_ , I’m just, I don’t know, missing a piece, I guess.”

“A piece?” Dean laughed harshly at the ridiculousness. “It’s a pretty big piece, Sam.”

“But the point is, why does my lack of soul have anything to do with wanting to have sex with you?” She asked. 

Dean flinched, eyes flickering away from hers. He couldn’t tell her, not now, not when she wouldn’t even get it. But, _god, oh god_ , it hurt. Because she wanted something from him that he couldn’t give her and it shouldn’t make him feel guilty, it shouldn’t, because this wasn’t even really Sam and yet... “The point is, I’m not sleeping with my sister’s body when she can’t even really consent.” His voice was rough and he wondered if she would sense his inner conflict. 

Sam laughed, incredulous and without humor. “You just said that Old Me would never consent to you.”

“Exactly.” Dean nodded. 

“Oh and you’re just okay with that?”

Dean turned away, pulling his tee on. “Perfectly okay.”

Sam huffed behind him. “You’re lying.”

Dean turned to her again. Her eyes were dark with frustration and anger. Was she really feeling them or was he imagining it? He wondered if she wanted to hit him, payback for knocking her out. He’d let her. It wasn’t the first time they’d gotten violent with each other and it wouldn’t be the last. 

But she didn’t. “You’re lying,” she repeated. 

“You lied first, Sam,” he reminded her through grit teeth. 

“About what?” She demanded. “About my soul? News flash, Dean. I didn’t even know.”

“You said I could trust you, that you had my back.”

“That wasn’t a lie.”

He threw his hands up. “You let me get turned into a vampire.” His voice was getting louder and louder. 

In comparison, Sam seemed mostly calm. “Because I knew about the cure. Because we needed a way into that nest and I knew you could handle it.” Her nonchalance was cutting, like blades on his skin. 

“Okay, so you used me as bait, that’s supposed to make me feel better?” Dean asked, mocking and sarcastic.

Sam was stepping forward then, getting in his space again. There was nowhere for him to escape. “I _told_ you that I _need_ you. I need your _help_. I don’t _want_ to be what I am right now and I know you’re the only one who can and _will_ help. Moreover,” she snarled as the back of his knees grazed the bed. “The first thing Dad drilled into my head when I started hunting with you was: _Watch Dean’s back_. He used to tell you to protect me? Well, he used to tell _me_ the same thing. It is literally coded into me to do my best to keep you safe. So, guess what, Dean?” She gripped his collar, making sure he couldn’t look away. “If I hadn’t known about the cure, or if I’d thought for even a second that the nest would be too much, then that vampire would never have lived long enough to bleed into your mouth.”

They stared at each other, at some sort of impasse. Dean felt breathless, Sam’s gaze pinning him in place and her fingers cold where they brushed against his neck. 

He slowly pulled away, backing out of her grasp. “Whatever,” he muttered, voice low and thick. He turned away so she wouldn’t see the tears beginning to prick at his eyes. “Point still stands. We’re not doing that again. We- I can't.”

He felt simultaneously grateful and disappointed when she didn’t reply. 

* * *

After that, it felt like they were in limbo. Stasis. 

Dean refused to touch her, outside of a supporting hand if either or both of them were injured after hunts. He always cringed away when she tried to reach for him, though she could tell it was mostly involuntary. She was sure there was supposed to be a boatload of guilt and grief inside her, caused by Dean’s behavior. She couldn’t say she missed it. The low-level irritation she felt instead was way easier to deal with. 

But at the same time, there was an itch under her skin, a dry ache that grew in intensity whenever Dean wordlessly shunned her. At this point, Sam wasn’t even hoping to kiss him or anything more. She would settle for simply being held by him. And she wished it could be as easy as crawling into his bed at night instead of her own, but she knew he’d only turn those green eyes at her, glinting with anger and sadness, and she’d cave and leave him be. Jesus, she was getting pathetic. 

She needed something to sate this need for… Well, she didn’t want to call it affection. She had no use for that. But, physical contact. She missed it. It made her feel… Good. 

She found her solution in the tanned blond who approached her at a bar, one large hand spanning her waist and the other buried in her hair as he easily lifted her and pressed into her against the wall of a dark alley. _(Dean grit his teeth but didn’t say a word)._

The lean, dark, flirty prostitute she led to the Impala and pinned to the leather of the backseat, who had an irresistible grin and kept up a barrage of comments that actually made her laugh even as she rode him. _(Dean threatened to make her wash the car if she did that again)._

The slightly older, green-eyed man in Texas who took her to his apartment, who kissed her too sweetly, hands too gentle, who brushed her hair away from her face and looked at her with her so much sad wistfulness that she almost asked for a name. _(Dean didn’t see this man. Sam made sure of it)._

Sam knew she was pushing her limits, trying to get Dean to snap by taking a page from his book. But damn if each and every single one of those encounters didn’t leave her happy, as close to happy as she could get. Content, maybe. They made her feel _something_ , they made her _want_ to feel. And every time she doubted the requirements of a soul, every time she remembered Crowley and Meg and Cas' certainty that she was better off without it- she thought about the peace she found in a stranger’s arms, how much better she had felt when it had been Dean’s arms instead… It strengthened her resolve. 

Maybe, after she got her soul back, she would still want him. Dean thought otherwise, but Sam couldn’t imagine not wanting her brother. It felt like it was a constant of the universe, like this attraction, this need to be as close to him as physically possible was written into her DNA. Why else would she still be so hung up on him when she literally had her choice of men wherever she went? 

Dean did snap, eventually. Almost. It was so close. 

They went out drinking, Dean telling her that he was tired of being cooped up. Sam half-hoped that he would hook up. She wasn’t keen on sharing him, but he’d been moping since the soulless reveal and if he wouldn’t let Sam help him, then someone else. As long as he stopped acting so miserable. Did he really think she didn’t notice? 

When she spotted him chatting amicably with a bartender and had the urge to pull him out of the bar with herself, she decided it was time for her to bow out. There was a sweet brunet guy flirting with her. Not usually her type. She preferred the rougher ones. But he had guitar callouses on his fingers and lips made for biting and when the light hit his face right, there were freckles scattered over his pale skin. She took him to the motel. Dean could fucking walk. 

The guy was confident enough as he kissed, kicking the door close with his arms around her waist. It was slow and calm for a minute, but Sam didn’t want slow. Not tonight. She broke away, shoving him lightly. 

“On the bed,” she said in a quiet voice. He obeyed easily and it rankled a little. Where was the fight? 

She watched him, eyes half-lidded and sharp, as he peeled his shirt off, never looking away from her. She joined him, crawling up his body, pausing once to bite over his left pec. He shuddered, then tugged at her flannel. “Off,” he murmured. 

She let him, closing her eyes. He took advantage of that by flipping them around, her hair fanning out over the pillow as he loomed over her. She let him do that too, trying to focus on him, on his fingers trailing across her exposed stomach, instead of the question of what Dean might be doing with that bartender right no-

“What the fuck?!” Dean snapped, at the same instant as Sam sensed his presence, tensing and pushing the man off her in a second. 

She relaxed when she saw it was him. “Dean,” she greeted casually, deliberately uncaring of the fact that she wasn’t wearing anything above her waist, except her bra. “Missed the sock on the door?”

Dean grit his teeth, knuckles white as he gripped the edge of the open door. He turned his glare to the man. “Get out,” he hissed. 

The man looked between him and Sam, concern marring his forehead. “Look, buddy, you just gotta calm down for-”

“Get. The fuck. Off. My sister,” Dean said, voice low and growling. 

The man’s eyes widened in understanding. “Oh, man, sorry.” There was something in Dean’s eyes, something dark and cruel, and the guy saw it too, as he dressed himself quickly and left the room with a disappointed, longing glance towards Sam. 

Dean turned to her. She sat calmly in bed, not bothering to cover up her chest. She waited instead, trying to breath steadily, wondering and hoping... 

Dean kept his eyes firmly on her face. “What are you doing?” He asked. 

Sam raised an eyebrow, letting her legs hang off the edge of the bed. “I should be asking you that,” she shot back. “Care to explain why you just sent Mike away?”

Dean swayed on the spot. His eyes were glazed. 

He was drunk, she realized. 

Disappointment washed over her, though maybe annoyance was a better word for it. With a roll of her eyes, she reached for her discarded shirt, putting it on. She only buttoned half of it before walking towards him, gripping his upper arms. “You should sleep,” she said firmly, closing the door behind him. “If you’re not going to do anything about your insane jealousy, then at least stop glaring and-”

She was genuinely taken off-guard when he cut off her words by pressing their lips together with a bruising intensity. Sam gasped into it, shocked because she really had almost given up, and Dean grabbed her hips, spinning around to pin her to the door, leaving her lips to feverishly nip at her jaw, making his way down to her neck and biting down on her jugular. Sam moaned softly, her head falling back on the wood, her hands scrambling over his shoulders for purchase, as lightning arched through her nerves at his touch. 

Oh fucking Hell, she’d underestimated how much she missed having his hands and lips on her. 

He pressed into her, or maybe she pulled him closer, but his mouth didn’t leave her skin and her fingers somehow found their way to his hair, tugging at the short strands. It only made him growl in annoyance at her attempt to take charge. 

But she couldn’t just lay back and take it like this, because that wasn’t really her. She wanted- _needed_ \- to touch. 

So, she dragged her hand down his chest, over his stomach, his waist. But when she reached the button of his jeans, he pushed away from her with a cut-off sound of shock, stumbling further into the room. 

Sam stayed where she was, leaning against the door, staring at Dean. He was staring back, his shirt askew, chest heaving, lips red and kiss-swollen in a way that sent a dizzying rush of arousal through her. 

Except Dean was… 

“De-”

“No!” He choked out. “No. I’m sorry. I can't… I can't do this.”

Nausea rose up her stomach, bringing a bitter taste to her mouth. There was a sharp ache behind her sternum, like when Cas had soul-checked her. “I’m going out,” she said quietly. “Don’t wait up.”

Dean’s eyes widened, still alcohol-heavy. “Are you going to hook up with someone?” He asked, voice small and sounding pathetic. 

Sam stared back at him coldly, because he shouldn’t be asking her that. “Yes. Because it’s the closest I can get to feeling something real and I want that. I want to feel that. So unless you’re going to help me out with it, don’t even try to stop me.” There. It was out now. _Ball's in your court, big brother._

She waited no more than five seconds for him to answer. When he didn’t- or maybe he couldn’t, maybe he didn’t know how to- she nodded firmly. “That’s what I thought.”

She left without a second glance. 

She walked without direction, aimlessly counting her steps in her head. When she got to 349, she stopped. The wind was cold and biting. She suddenly realized her eyes felt prickly. Like, she should be crying, but couldn’t bring herself to.

So was this heartache? Sam wondered idly. Was this hurt? Or rage? Or the feeling of scorn? 

As she stood there, in the middle of the sidewalk, contemplating what she was feeling, Sam realized that if Dean’s rejection felt unpleasant now, then when she got her soul back, it would be so much worse. And, despite whatever Dean thought, Sam understood now that she’d always wanted him, soul or no soul. And Dean… God only knew what Dean really wanted from her. 

This was it, then. Sam didn’t want her soul back. Not if it meant feeling this ten times more potently. 

* * *

Death was adamant, stoic. Like he didn’t see or didn’t care about the way Sam thrashed around, helpless, trying to free herself. 

She was pleading with him. “Don’t do this, please, Dean, please, don’t!”

“You’re going to feel an itch, Sam,” Death told her, his voice almost soothing yet condescending. “Do yourself a favor: _don’t scratch_.”

Sam looked back at Dean. There was pure terror on her eyes and this time, he didn’t doubt that it was a genuine emotion. 

“Don’t do this!” She begged. “You don’t know what it’ll do to me, Dean, don’t, please-”

Her soul was bright in Death’s palm, like a mini-star. It was beautiful, but Dean couldn’t look away from Sam’s eyes. They held his gaze for one single second, stretched out in slow-motion, full of hurt, betrayal, disbelief. 

And then she screamed.

Dean couldn’t look away, didn’t let himself. This was his punishment, he thought grimly, for not realizing sooner that something was wrong with her, for ever letting her stay in that Cage for such a long time, for having no choice but to put her through this pain.

Death disappeared and Sam's body went limp, with small tremors passing through. 

He heard Bobby say something, was half-aware of replying, but the next thing he knew for sure was kneeling next to the cot. Sam seemed unconscious. Her skin felt hot when he touched her hand and her eyes, half-lidded, were reflecting flames that only existed in her head. _Hellfire_. 

Dean smoothed his palm over her eyes, closing them. He brushed her hair away, tucking them behind her ears. There was a sudden sense of loss, mingling with the hope and anticipation of having his sister back. 

He was glad to see this soulless version go, of course he was, but if there was one thing he would miss… 

Dean leaned down, pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth, barely grazing her lips. “Goodbye,” he whispered. 


	3. Chapter 3

_Pain. Too dark. Hot. Cold. Red eyes. Blue eyes. Tearing flesh. Burning hair. Frosted toes. Laugh. It’s Michael. The angry one. Too bright. Another laugh. It’s him now. The mean one. Lucifer. Samael. Morningstar. What’s my name? I don’t know. More fire. It’s freezing. Blood in my lungs. Rotting fruit. Stuck in my throat. Crying. Who’s crying?_

_“Hush, kiddo,” he says. “Big brother doesn’t like crybabies. Don't wanna disappoint him, now, do you?”_

_Green eyes. Brass. Metal and leather. Army man. Gun to my head. Big brother?_

_No saving. Cursed soul._

_Nails on my tongue. Teeth on my skin. Fingers scrambling my insides._

_Screaming. Someone’s screaming. Angry screaming._

_Soft. Gentle. Pulling. Flying. Pain. Pain. Pain._

_Pain_.

_Pain_.

_Pai-_

"Don't scratch the wall."

_Breathe. Oxygen. Cotton. Wood. Lips._

“Come on, Sammy. You gotta wake up. Please.”

_Big brother? Sammy? Dean? Dean!_


	4. Chapter 4

Dean spent most of his time in the panic room, keeping vigil on a chair next to the cot, watching Sam, like a dragon guarding it’s hoard.

The analogy fit. Dean was the dragon. Sam was his treasure.

Sam would get a kick out of it, even if she tried to disguise it by acting offended.

“Dean.”

Dean startled, looking up to find Cas gazing at him sadly.

“It’s been a week,” he said in his characteristically gentle way. “She hasn’t woken up yet?”

Dean shook his head.

Cas sighed, striding forward. He knelt gracefully on the floor, reaching out with a hand to Sam’s sternum. Dean did his best not to flinch as Sam stirred unconsciously, face screwing up slightly as Cas' hand glowed in her chest.

Cas pulled back. He shuddered, not quite meeting Dean’s eyes.

“What is it?”

Cas looked… Sad. “What have you done, Dean?” He asked softly. “Sam’s soul is… Shredded. Like it had been skinned alive.”

Dean swallowed, trembling. “What are you talking about?” He demanded, trying and failing to keep his voice steady.

Cas shook his head. “I’m saying that it would have been kinder to simply kill her.”

Dean knew he blanched. “Don’t say that,” he snarled. “Don’t you fucking say that!”

Cas stepped closer, close enough that Dean felt trapped under the cool blue gaze. “Dean, you need to prepare yourself for the possibility that Sam may never wake up,” he said softly. “Or that, if she does, she won’t be the same person you remember her as. And…”

When he trailed off, clearly hesitating, Dean gripped his elbow, desperate. “And what? _What_ , Cas?”

“Even if she wakes up, even if she is just the same as she was… That wall will not hold up forever, Dean,” Cas told him, serious as a heart attack, demeanor grim and upset. “Sam is smart. She’ll figure it out. And consciously or not, she will scratch at that wall and it will be broken down. And then…” He sighed. “Like I said, it would have been kinder to kill her outright.”

Dean shook his head. “No. No, Cas, I couldn’t leave half of her- the _important_ half- down there. I had to risk it. And she’ll be _fine_.” He pretended his voice didn’t break on the last word. “She _has_ to be fine.”

Cas regarded him with something too close to pity and something that resembled regret. Then he flew away, disappearing as he always did.

Dean rubbed his eyes, feeling inexplicably tired. His watch said it was time for dinner. Bobby had laid down the law: he could stay in the panic room with Sam all day long, but he had to come up for meals.

With a sigh, he knelt on the ground, taking Sam’s hand in his own. “Stop being such a stubborn bitch,” he murmured, allowing himself a moment of weakness and pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “Come on, Sammy, you gotta wake up. Please,” he begged.

No response.

Sam stayed asleep, breathing soft and peaceful. Dean swallowed back his fear and got to his feet and walked away.

* * *

Sam woke up with a loud gasp. There was momentary disorientation, the fringes of a memory that she couldn’t quite reach, the whisper of an unfamiliar voice echoing in the back of her mind, a strange sense of foreboding.

She sat up, tense, eyes squeezing shut on an instinct she didn't understand, as she braced for pain. Nothing happened.

Sam frowned. She'd jumped. She remembered it clearly: the wind, Lucifer screaming in her head, the heft of Adam’s arm, Dean’s heartbroken face as he stared up at her…

_Oh fuck. Dean._

Seriously, where was the torture?

Slowly, Sam opened her eyes.

Then she saw where she was: the panic room.

Bobby’s house.

Not the cemetery.

_Dean_.

For a second, she didn't know if she could, or should, believe it.

Then she was on her feet, because nothing ventured was nothing gained, stumbling a little as she got hit by a dizzy spell. She ignored it in favor of her thundering heart and ran up the stairs on bare feet, every inch of her skin tingling with the prospect of her brother, her best friend, her everything, and-

And there he was. His back to her, shoulders hunched, head bowed, the line of his back slightly curved.

“Dean,” she said. It was barely more than a breath.

But he heard her and he turned around to look at her. His eyes went wide with disbelief, as he stood smoothly, taking two steps towards her, almost trance-like.

“Sammy?” He whispered and there was something utterly beautiful about how he said her name, full of hope and wonder, how awe and gratitude lit up his eyes the same way the sunlight illuminated his chiseled features.

Sam closed the distance between them in two quick strides, throwing her arms around him without hesitation. She was stuck between a surge of protectiveness and the urge to be protected, screaming laughter and blubbering tears. She settled for holding him, sinking into the embrace.

Dean was slow to hug her back, but when he did, she relaxed impossibly more, slumping into him with her eyes slipping close, breathing him in, a familiar mix of Old Spice and gun oil.

She was loathe to break away, but she was struck by the sudden need to see his face again, to assure herself that he wasn’t still beaten bloody and broken by her own hands, like he’d been when she’d seen him last. She couldn’t help smiling widely when she noticed the dumbstruck look on his face.

Behind him, Bobby was standing too, wearing a similar flabbergasted expression.

Sam didn’t give him time to protest, sidestepping Dean and hugging him too. The older man patted her head, comfortingly, and she almost laughed, because Bobby didn’t do hugs but here he was, letting her clutch him like he was…

“How are you alive?” She suddenly gasped, jerking back. “I remember that Lucifer… That I’d… Your neck was snapped.”

Bobby shook his head slowly. “Cas brought me back.”

A memory of exploding flesh and blood flashed through her mind. Sam smiled again. It seemed to have become a reflex. “Cas is back too?”

“Thank God,” Dean mumbled. “Literally.”

Sam turned, found him right behind her, arm half-extended, as if to touch her.

“Sam, do you…” He hesitated. “Are you really okay? How are you feeling?”

Sam took a second. Self-assessment. There were several questions to be asked, several doubts and concerns, but those could take a backseat for now.

“Actually, I’m kinda hungry,” she surprised herself by saying. Call it a miracle, but the last two years had been so terrible that her appetite had shrunk a lot. And now, she was feeling like she hadn’t eaten in days.

Dean, for his part, looked pleased. “Come on.” He clapped her shoulder lightly. “We got food.”

He led her to the table, while Bobby placed in front of her a plate of thick sandwiches with everything in it that she liked. She got the feeling they were coddling her, pampering her, especially Dean with the way his chair was so close to her that their knees knocked together. She was tempted to protest, but she’d done the same to Dean, hadn’t she? When he’d come back from Hell after four months? Speaking of which…

“How long's it been?” She asked, having to remind herself to slow down and actually chew her food instead of inhaling it. Fuck, she was really hungry. “Since… Ya know.”

Dean looked uncomfortable for a moment, like he was about to lie. Then, his face cleared. “18 months.”

Sam froze, eyes flitting to Bobby for confirmation. “A year and a half… Wow… I mean, uh…” She met Dean’s gaze.

He looked back steadily, but there was a dark sorrow to his gaze.

Sam swallowed. “Well… I’m here. Now.” She hesitated. “180 years,” she calculated. Why couldn’t she remember anything of her time in the Cage?

Dean considered her for a second. “What’s the last thing you remember, Sammy?”

She frowned. “Uh… Stull. Jumping.”

For some reason, Dean’s shoulders sagged, almost as if in relief. “And you don’t remember…?” He made a vague gesture.

She shook her head, unsure whether to be suspicious or glad. “Not a damn thing.”

Dean looked even happier at that. He reached for her plate, snagging a sandwich.

Sam slapped his hand away on instinct. “Hey, they’re mine! Get your own.”

“Learn to share.” He pouted.

“Fuck off!” She laughed.

He grinned too.

There was the click of a camera shutter. They both became aware of Bobby.

“Don’t be minding me,” he said gruffly. “Been a while since the two of you been…” He trailed off.

Sam couldn’t stop smiling. And when she realized Dean was still looking at her with a grin of his own, eyes shining brilliantly enough to make her breath catch… Well, it only made her smile grow bigger.

* * *

Despite obviously being happy about Sam being okay, Bobby’s reluctance to be around for her long was understandable. But still, he could be more subtle about it, Dean thought.

Thankfully, Sam seemed to be flying high on the endorphins of success and relief and hadn’t noticed. Also understandable. From her perspective, it had only been yesterday that she’d beaten the Devil and saved the world and come back to life with no terrible memories. She was allowed to be happy. Hell, she deserved it.

And for the first time since realizing Sam had come back without a soul, Dean let himself feel that happiness too.

He couldn’t stop sneaking glances at her as he drove. She’d rolled down the window, tilted her face into the wind.

“Look at the road,” she chided.

“Your eyes are closed, how would you know I’m not?” He grumbled.

He could practically hear her smirk. “I always know.”

There was a short silence. Dean took a quick peek at her again.

“Did you do it?” She asked.

Dean sighed. He’d been waiting for this moment, when she would finally grill him for info. Figured she wouldn’t even wait one whole day. “What?” He asked anyway.

“Did you bring me back? Make a deal?”

Dean bit his lips. “No. And yes.”

Sam sighed. It was only partially frustrated. “Dean, I told you to let it go.”

“Of course I didn’t let it go,” he snapped, repeating the same thing he’d told her soulless counterpart. “The whole time, I was…” He huffed angrily. “I didn’t find anything. _Nothing_. I had to…”

Sam waited patiently.

“I made a deal with Death.”

Sam’s shock was palpable. “Death? The Horseman of the Apocalypse?”

“Uh, do we know any other?”

Sam was glaring at him now.

“I didn’t have to sell anything, okay?” He assured her. “He just had a, sort of, like a test, for me. Which I failed, so it was really a lesson, I think. Not sure that I got it. But, turns out saving the world gets you a one-time special treatment, so he brought you back anyway.”

She swallowed audibly. “Seriously?” She asked. “This isn’t gonna bite us in the ass later? No repercussions?”

“That’s a 50 cents word, college girl.”

“Dean…”

“No, Sam,” he told her. “I promise, okay, I swear it. Nothing bad. We’re in the clear.” He refused to let himself feel guilty about Adam. It was surprisingly, or maybe not surprisingly, easy.

Sam sighed, relieved.

Another short silence.

Again, Sam was the one to break it. “Did you, um, did you, you know… Lisa?”

Dean’s breath caught. He hadn’t thought about her in weeks. “I did,” he answered stiffly. “For a year. Didn’t work out. So, I left, around six months ago. Just hit the road.” It was close to the truth. He couldn’t exactly say _Your soulless self convinced me to come along and then I started sleeping with her, so I didn’t bother keeping in touch with Lisa and Ben as much as I should have._

He turned his head a bit to look at Sam and found guilt on her face. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled. “That it didn’t… I just thought that maybe she would, I don’t know, be good for you.”

Dean shook his head. “Don’t worry about it, Sammy.”

Sam suddenly yawned, which she tried to muffle in vain.

Despite his best efforts, Dean felt himself grin. “Feeling sleepy?”

“Yeah,” she said. “Weird. You’d think coming back to life after a year and a half would have me completely energized.”

“Yeah, well. Get some rest. We’ve got two hours before arriving.”

Sam hummed and folded her impossibly long legs into the seat. She fell asleep within minutes. Her face was turned towards him, though, and if Dean kept staring at her for two long every now and then… Well, no one would ever know.

* * *

It was a bunch of little things. Dean’s hovering- which wasn’t exactly all that new, considering past instances of coming back to life; Bobby’s stilted behavior- weird considering how definitely happy he’d been to see her; the little slip-ups that were too odd to go unnoticed. Why would Dean be so relieved about her asking about stealing the vic's diary? Why had he looked so secretly pleased when she’d reprimanded him for being rough with the witness? And why did he keep brushing her off with vague answers every time she asked about his past year? It was different from how he’d been after Cold Oak. It felt like he was waiting for something. 

Sam stared at her phone. Bobby’s contact was still open. He’d ended the call quickly, like he couldn’t wait to be doing anything but talk to her. It was kinda hurtful.

She could call him again. Demand answers. But…

Sam sighed, turned to look at the mirror. For a few seconds, she stared at her reflection blankly. Unseeing.

Then she frowned.

Her hair was longer. Just enough to be noticed, though it was still arranged the same way she remembered- swept off her forehead and curled around her ears.

There was a healed nick below her left ear.

The scar over her carotid artery was still there, from when she’d tried to test Lucifer’s claim of bringing her back to life if she died.

Gingerly, Sam unbuttoned her shirt, lifted off her tee shirt. With the sour taste of a lie stuck in her throat, she lightly traced the defined planes of her stomach. Muscles that had definitely not been as pronounced when she’d last seen herself, a new definition to her whole body in fact. She turned, trying to scrutinize the muscles of her back and shoulder blades.

No way had she been gone for 18 months. This kind of muscle wasn’t built up out of nowhere. Not to mention, if her body had been rebuilt just a week ago, then where had all these new scars come from? Like the healed puncture wound on her shoulder?

No. Something was definitely wrong here. Again, she considered calling Bobby. But if Dean was lying to her, then Bobby was likely to be in on it. On the other hand, maybe…

Mind made up, Sam put on her clothes again. Then she sat on the bed and prayed to Castiel.

“Sam.”

She opened her eyes and, despite her misgivings, couldn’t help but smile at the angel. Castiel looked the same as ever, eyes bluer than blue and ugly-ass trench coat. Not that she would call it that way aloud- Cas was weirdly fond of that thing.

He looked almost ecstatic to see her, gaze flitting over her analytically. “It’s so good to see you as yourself.”

The words struck her as odd, but she let him hug her, wrapping her own arms around him. There was the scent of ozone that always accompanied angels, and he radiated a light chill. For a second, something niggled at the back of her mind, like a memory. It was gone before she could grasp it.

She pulled away. “What do you mean? As myself?”

Cas peered at her. “Well, I mean, with your soul back, of course.”

Something in Sam struck like lightning. _Don’t scratch the wall_. There was something in her head. Something that shouldn’t be there. She was familiar enough with the sensation by now.

“Of course,” she replied, licking dry lips. It was tough not to collapse on the bed. “Because, yeah, I’ve been… Walking around… Without a soul. Of course.”

“Honestly, I was afraid you wouldn’t survive,” Cas told her, all too seriously. “Or even wake up. And I told Dean not to go through with it, but...” He huffed, indignant. “You know how he is.”

Sam nodded, trying to keep a straight face. Soul. Soulless. Shed been soulless. What the fuck had Dean done to put it back in her then?

“Sam?”

She blinked up at him, then smiled invitingly. “You know, Cas, Dean hasn’t really had time to catch me up the details. So, could you…?”

He hesitated. “I have to be somewhere,” he sighed. “The coup in Heaven is gaining momentum. But, you do need to be made aware.” He sat down on the opposite bed. “I’ll tell you the little I know.”

* * *

“I know.”

Dean froze for an instant. “What?”

“The last year, me…” Sam sighed, disapproval and apology both in her eyes. “You should have told me.”

Dean relaxed, if only by a fraction. She hadn’t remembered. “Bobby?”

She shook her head. “Cas.”

Dean snorted, sat opposite her. “Child.”

“To be fair, I did trick him into it. And come on. Longer hair, more muscles, new scars, a bunch of names on my phone I don’t recognize? I would have figured it out eventually.”

They sat in silence for a while.

“I can feel it,” Sam said softly. “The wall. In my head. I can feel it. I can almost _see_ it.”

Dean was shaking his head before she finished talking. “Don’t. Don’t do that, Sammy. You can’t remember any of it.”

“Really?” She snapped. “Because the way Cas said it, I was pretty fucked up, Dean. What kind of shit did I end up breaking, huh? And you want me to pretend it never happened?”

“That wasn’t you.”

“It was a part of me,” Sam insisted. “Cas told me what I nearly did to Bobby. And…” She shook her head, running a hand through her hair.

Dean watched her with a heavy weight in his stomach.

“I can’t even begin to imagine how it must have been for you,” she said, miserably.

Dean felt the guilt well up in him. She hadn’t done anything. Not really. Soulless, she couldn’t be held responsible in any way. But Dean… He was the one who’d been stupid, he’d kissed her after resolving not to, he’d slept with her… Fuck, he’d violated her in a way too similar to what Meg and Lucifer had done by possessing her.

He should tell her. His feelings aside, he had to tell her what he’d gotten up to with Robo-Sam, had to apologize. Even if she would hate him forever. Or worse, she’d forgive him and find a way to blame herself instead. Either way, she deserved to know.

But he couldn’t. Not when telling her meant she could remember, and remembering meant a fate worse than death, if Cas and Death were to be believed.

So, Dean took a deep breath and, for just one long moment, allowed himself to admire the smooth curve of her neck, the beer-moist pink of her lips, the callouses on her fingers. And then he closed his eyes and forced them out of his head- all the things about her he was never supposed to find out, things he'd desired that had earned him a pre-booked ticket to Hell long before he'd sold his soul.

“Hey.” He reached across the table to flick her forehead. “Gimme a little credit. Whatever shit you got up to with Samuel, I didn’t let any of that fly. That is kinda my job, you know?” He grinned, wide and silly. “Making sure my pain-in-the-ass little sister stays on the straight and narrow is pretty much in my job description.”

Sam stared at him, just a little too long, in that way she did sometimes without any reason that he could think of. Then she looked away, smiling a bit, just a reluctant upturn of her mouth.

Dean wondered why it was that she’d smiled more often and more readily when she’d been soulless, when they’d been… Whatever. It didn’t matter. None of that had been real.

But this was.

So, Dean tore his eyes away from his sister, ignoring the way another little piece of his heart chipped off, and watched the sun set with her.


	5. Chapter 5

The case seemed pretty straightforward at first glance. Five men missing over a period of seven days. And apart from Dean's astute observation that they were all brunets, Sam could find nothing that connected them. 

"Look, maybe it's not our thing," Dean suggested, enthusiastically chewing his food. "Maybe it's a human, some serial killer with a penchant for dudes with brown hair."

Sam sighed. He was probably right, but there was something niggling at her brain. She tried not to pay too much attention to it, Dean's warnings about her Hell-Wall clear as a bell. 

"Just give me the rest of the day," she asked of him. "If I can't find anything, we'll leave. I won't even make you help." Of course, that meant he would hit a bar and go home with some hot bartender or whatever. But that wasn't a problem, really. Sam had long since gotten accustomed to pushing her own desires deep down. Besides, as long as he came back to her in the morning, she could deal. It was people like Cassie or Lisa who scared Sam, brought out all her ugly jealousy and insecurity.

Dean gave a very fake sigh, bringing her back to the here and now. "Alright, fine. I'mma hit the john. Take care of the bill?"

Sam nodded absently, still poring over the papers as she finished up the rest of her food. 

A shadow over the table made her look up. 

"Agent Roarke!" It was a decent-looking man, maybe in his early thirties, a mop of dark hair. "How good to see you again!"

Sam suddenly had a very bad feeling about this case. "Um, yes, hi," she greeted, smile already in place. 

"Uh, you remember my wife?" He gestured to his companion. 

She looked at Sam with narrowed eyes. "Where's your partner? Agent Wynand?"

Sam shook her head slowly. "Uh…" Fuck, who was the lady talking about? Which pronoun was Sam supposed to use? "They, uh…"

"Sex rehab," Dean interjected smoothly, retaking his seat with a plastered smirk. "I'm Agent Keating, her new partner." He turned to Sam. "So, we should…"

"Oh, of course, wouldn't want to keep you from your job," the lady said, voice still cold. She began to take her husband away. 

“It was nice to meet you, Agent Roarke.” There was a familiarity in those words that bothered Sam. The man had been staring at her all this time, she realized, and as he shook her hand before following his wife, Sam felt her eyes dry up. 

_ (marble tiles, cold mirror at her back, suit shoved off, tie in hand, two-day stubble, wrong cologne, eyes not green, "Isn't this against FBI regulations, Agent?")  _

"What the hell? That guy just looked at you like-"

Sam blinked. "I think I've been here before," she cut Dean off. "With Samuel." She hadn't yet wrapped her head around the fact that their grandfather was alive and kicking. And a dick. 

Dean looked equal parts worried and annoyed. "Ya think?" He snapped, holding up a small photo. It was of one of the winners of the restaurant’s eating contest. Behind the winner, two people could be seen in shadows: an older and balding man, and Sam herself.

Sam swallowed thickly. “Dean, I think I slept with that man,” she said, voice thin.

Dean looked grim. “No kidding.”

Sam shook her head. “No, listen to me!” She hissed. “I screwed around with a married man. _Married_! Maybe more than once. I would never… How could I-?”

“Hey!” Dean reached across the table, gripping her wrist. “We’ve been over this. It wasn’t you. None of it. It was a soulless bastard killing machine.”

“What if I’ve done worse?” Sam whispered. The idea, the very thought of it, made bile rise up in her throat. "Oh, fuck, Dean, what if I've hurt someone, what if I forced someone, what if someone was underage?"

"Okay, stop, _stop_!" Dean growled. His grip tightened, causing a slight twinge of pain in her wrist bone. "Look, I'm gonna level with you, I don't know how bad things got while Robo-you was with Samuel, okay? But as soon as I hit the road, I kept you- _her_ in check. Okay? She never went too far while we were running together. I promise."

Sam took a deep breath, trying to hold his gaze. "Did I hurt you?" It was a question she'd asked before and he'd brushed off with a shake of his head and a reassuring smirk. 

But right now, he just stared back at her firmly, his eyes greener than usual in the filtered sunlight. "No," he said quietly. 

Sam wished that was enough to assuage the horror and trepidation in her stomach. But she let it go, knowing he wouldn't get anything more out of her. 

* * *

Okay, technically, Dean had known that Robo-Sam had spent most of her downtime having kinky sex. But five guys in one town? 

If Dean wasn't busy being so insanely jealous, he'd have been somewhat impressed. As it was, he still felt a massive surge of protectiveness because this was still his little sister, damn it, and a couple of these guys were total douchebags. Sam deserved better. 

Then again… That had been Robo-Sam. Not Sammy. 

Anyway, Dean wasn't allowed to feel jealous. He'd promised himself. And, in any case, now was not the time to be thinking about any of that. Sammy was distressed. “You okay?” He asked, kinda redundantly.

Sam didn’t look at him. “You were right,” she mumbled to her knees. “We shouldn’t have come here.”

_ I told you so  _ flitted through the Jerk part of Dean’s brain. Thankfully, the Big Brother part took charge instead, as it was wont to do in these kinds of situations. “Well, hey, at least, you killed Spider-Man back there,” he consoled.

Sam finally turned to look up at him. “Are you suggesting that what I did back there was a good thing?” She demanded, as if daring him to answer in a way she wouldn't like.

Well, too bad. “Look, all I’m saying is,” he tried to explain. “Is that all the crap from the last year and a half- it wasn’t you.”

The resulting laughter was hollow. “Let’s get one thing clear,” she said, caustic. “It was me.”

Dean opened his mouth to argue. But what could he say? True, some of his insistence was born out of selfishness- he  _ needed _ to believe that it hadn’t really been Sam. Because thinking otherwise would mess up his whole worldview. And he’d already had his fill of that for two lifetimes, thank you very much.

So, he let it go now and walked to the other side of the cabin, haphazardly throwing his stuff into his bag. “Well, can I get you anything?”

He could perfectly picture the way her nose scrunched up in annoyed derision. “What are you, my waiter, now?” She snapped. 

Dean rolled his eyes. “Man, I’m just trying to make you feel better, don’t be a bitch,” he scolded, half-heartedly.

Her sigh was small, tired. “Yeah. Fine.” See, this was how Winchesters apologized.

“Yeah, you look fine,” Dean smirked wryly as he put his boots on. “Look, all I’m saying is that everything’s gonna be alright.” It was weirdly optimistic for them, sure, but the world wasn’t on the verge of ending and almost everything was alright with them. They could get through this too.

Sam, of course, sighed again, like she hadn’t grown out of her emo-teen phase. “I don’t see how, Dean. If I’ve done so much bad just here, then how many other-?”

There was an all too familiar thud- the sound of a body dropping.

Dean surged to his feet, heart skipping too many beats, his feet tripping over the untied laces of his boots, as he rushed to kneel on the wooden floor. Sam was seizing, her body thrashing and nearly curling in on itself. Dean grabbed her arms, trying to stop her from hurting herself.

“Sam?” He called, barely able to hear himself over her choking gasps. "Sam, Sam, hey, talk to me, come on."

She went still, going limp in his arms. Dean felt rising panic, like a volcano about to erupt. "Sammy?" Her skin was clammy, her pulse sluggish. “Sam.” Her eyes were closed. "S-Sam?" There was a sob threatening to break through. He bent closer, barely thinking straight beyond the need for Sam to wake up. “Come on,” he muttered, smoothing her hair away. “Come on, damn it.” 

Her eyes opened.

He almost felt relief.

But there were flames reflected in the irises. Flames that had no business burning there. 

_ No,  _ Dean thought, loud and vehement. No, this couldn't be happening, Sam couldn't-

She gasped, blinking furiously. Her pulse sped up to normal rates. Dean took a stuttering breath of relief, gripping Sam's arms. 

"Hey, Sam, hey, you okay?" There was a tremor in his voice. “You with me?”

Sam didn’t notice, grasping at the sleeve of his jacket instead. "I'm okay," she rasped out, nodding dazedly. 

He pulled her up to sit. She leaned into him immediately, resting her chin on his shoulder. He cradled the back of her head, breathed in the scent of her hair. 

“We need to get you of here,” he said, starting to pull her to her feet.

Sam resisted for a second, her words muffled in his jacket. "I remember the vampire," she whispered. 

* * *

Dean refused to talk about it, refused to hear a word. He drove them out of the town, not stopping for five hours straight. Sam spent the time in a blank horror, feeling disgust well up at herself. She’d let Dean get bitten? Let him get fed on? All for what- a target that Samuel had set her on? Who the fuck did her soulless self think she was?

They stopped on the outskirts of another town. Dean returned from the food truck to stand by her side. “How you feeling?”

She took a second to gauge the concern he wasn’t bothering to hide. She should probably be honest. “Like I got hit by a…” She had to think for a suitable analogy. “Planet.”

Dean smiled sunnily and thrust a cup of coffee into her hands. “Well, lucky for you, I’m a doctor.”

Sam hid the sudden overload of fondness by taking a sip. “Thanks.”

“Got you some grub and-” He shook a clear bottle of pills.

Sam frowned at them. “What are they?” She asked warily. She didn’t really put it past Dean to sneakily knock her out because she wasn’t sleeping enough. She’d done it to him plenty of times before.

“Effective,” was all he said.

Probably pain killers. Sam could use the relief. And the sleep. She did feel like her whole body had been smashed under Jupiter. But the funny thing was… She didn’t feel like it would hinder her from working, almost as if she’d been in worse pain than this. She just couldn’t _remember_ it, even though her body obviously did. Moreover, Sam suspected that the next time she had another episode like this, she would remember that too.

“No, I’m good,” she declined.

Dean didn’t press, just tucked the meds away.

Sam looked out at the distant fields. “So how long was I out?” She asked, finally putting words to what they’d been pretending to forget for the last five hours.

Dean leaned against the car too, his shoulder brushing hers. “Two or three minutes.” There was a careful nonchalance to his voice. “How long did it feel like to you?”

Sam thought about it. “A week. Give or take.”

“It was Hell, wasn’t it?” He gazed at her too keenly. “It was the Cage. You remembered some things.”

“I remember that I stood back and watched some vamp force-feed you his blood.”  _ And I enjoyed it. I enjoyed watching you helpless and vulnerable and blissed-out, like you’d been drugged. Like you were high on the power. _ “I remember that I turned my back on you for a second and you escaped to Lisa’s place. And you almost attacked her and you almost hurt Ben.”  _ I didn’t care. I wouldn’t have cared if you;d been turned. A vampire makes for a better hunting partner than a human. _ “I let you walk into a nest all on your-”

“Stop it!” Dean snapped.

Sam blinked, her skin prickling with self-loathing.

I’ve told you- that wasn’t you. Not really,” he said.

“You also said that I didn’t hurt you in any way,” she reminded. “And I obviously did.” She tilted her head in the condescending way that always pissed him off. “See the problem?”

Sure enough, Dean’s lips thinned into a straight line and he looked pointedly away from her.

“What else did I do to you?” She almost didn’t dare ask.

For a few seconds, it looked like Dean was struggling with himself. “You don’t get it,” he said quietly. “It doesn’t matter what you did. None of it. Doesn't even matter if it was really you or not. Because either way, remembering any of it could kill you. Or worse.” He narrowed his eyes at her. “No more exploring. Past stays in the past. You are not kicking that wall again.”

“So, what, you seriously want me to just forget about it?” She questioned. “All the bad things I might have done and you want me to ignore them?”

“You shove it all down and you let it come out in spurts of alcoholism and violence,” Dean said.

Sam didn’t need to have taken Intro to Psychology to know that was a terrible plan. 

“It’s simple: first, you were a soulless douchebag. And now you’re not. We good?”

Sam tried to put it out of her mind, she really did. They went to New Jersey: a man burned to death in a college lab. But the new memories were like a highlight reel playing in her head every time she blinked. Sometimes, it was Dean’s pale face smeared with blood; sometimes, it was the heartbroken look on his face when he called Lisa to apologize and she didn’t pick up.

Dean offered her a model heart as they walked around the lab. “Be my Valentine?”

There was another memory that flashed before her eyes- _Dean’s hand tight around her wrists, lips parted as he stared at her with some fear_ \- and it confused her. It _scared_ her, because she couldn’t place the memory, couldn’t remember what led to that situation, or what had been said. 

So Sam rolled her eyes. “Dean, put it back, we’re working.”

He smirked, eyes glinting with mischief. “Have a heart,” he teased.

“Dean.”

Dean laughed and Sam told herself that she was imagining the resignation she could hear. Soulless or not, Sam wouldn’t have divulged her biggest secret to him, to anyone. Hopefully.

Because Dean was still here with her, not running for the hills.

She had to believe that he didn’t know how much it hurt her when he dashed off to Lisa, despite the fact that she practically pushed him into the car. And when he was gone for the whole night, she had to believe that he didn’t know it broke her heart a little.


	6. Chapter 6

So, they were actors here. That was great. Just fucking great. Dean was Jensen Ackles, Sam was Missy Peregrim, Cas was Misha Collins- any more weird names and Sam was afraid that Dean might seriously lose it.

At least, the house was great.

As long as she ignored the wedding photos of the people who looked like herself and the demon who’d led her down the path of ending the world.

The money was a plus.

With all the items needed for the spell ordered online, they had time to kill.

Mildly curious, Sam googled the show-  _ Supernatural-  _ and began to learn what she could. There were a bunch of clips available online.

“Oh for god’s sake,” Dean grumbled, glaring at the laptop screen. “They’re not even wearing gloves. How can they not wear gloves? They’ll be leaving fingerprints everywhere.”

“Is that what they think Latin sounds like?” Sam exclaimed, trying not to cringe at her on-screen doppelganger. "Aren't they supposed to have people around to correct their pronunciation and stuff?"

“Idiots,” Dean complained and left the table to drop into a cream coloured sofa.

Sam continued to scroll down the page. “Hey, apparently, it was supposed to end last year,” she said. “When you- oh.”

“What?”

Sam shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “When you settled down with Lisa after Stull,” she said carefully.

“Well, good thing the powers-that-be changed their minds,” Dean said darkly. “What else?”

Sam peered at the screen again. “Apparently, people think you and Cas are screwing. And, uh...”

“What now?!”

“Andyouandmetoo,” Sam said in a rush. She was blushing, she knew she was.

Dean was silent for a long moment.

Sam risked a glance, found him looking at her blankly. 

“Anything else?” Was all he asked.

Sam hesitated, then nodded. “They think our actors are secretly in a relationship.”

Dean raised an eyebrow, pointing at the wedding photo on the wall. “Even though we’re not talking to each other in this world? Even though someone else put a ring on it?”

Sam nodded without looking at the photo. 

Dean stared at her for a few seconds more, then sighed. “Well, I guess some things are universal. Multi-versal. Or whatever.” He gave a short laugh that sounded a bit too bitter. “I mean, how many times have people thought we were a couple back in our world, right?”

“It’s an easy assumption,” Sam said softly. “We don’t look anything alike and…” She wondered if the knowledge of how different they were from other siblings- too wrapped up in each other, too physically affectionate, always standing too close- was another one of those things that they just didn’t talk about. 

Dean seemed to understand. His mouth twisted oddly, somewhere between a smirk and a grimace. “It doesn’t matter what they see,” he said. “It’s still fucked up to think about.” He closed his eyes, twisting to face away from her.

So he didn’t see the hurt that Sam failed to hide. She swallowed with some difficulty and looked back at the laptop. The internet was full of discourse on why people thought the way they did. 

She closed the laptop. She didn't want to see any of that, didn't want to find out how many people thought she was in love with her brother. They would be right. 

With nothing else to do, Sam took a page from Dean’s book and curled up on the armchair, idly staring at Dean’s shoulders, relaxed under the thin grey tee-shirt…

_ He was rummaging in his duffel, looking for something to wear. His back was to her, pale under the weak yellow lights of the motel room. _

_ Sam stepped closer, placing her hand on the middle of his shoulder blades, lightly tracing the freckles with her fingertips. _

_ He tensed under her touch. He said something, she answered- but the words were muffled, like they were coming through walls. She couldn’t make any of it out. _

_ He turned around. He looked angry, sad, but his eyes were dark with lust. He was saying something more, still upset, but he wasn’t moving away and his eyes kept moving to her lips. _

_ Sam wanted to kiss him , even while she snapped back, but she couldn’t, couldn’t risk it, when he might get even angrier, or… _

“Sam!”

She jerked awake, nearly headbutting Dean as he hurriedly stepped away from the armchair. “Dean?” She called hoarsely, trying to reconcile the man in front of her with the one she’d dreamed of.

“Come on, we gotta go to the airport, pick up everything we ordered yesterday,” Dean told her.

Sam stared at him, horror settling in her stomach. A little furrow of concern appeared on Dean’s brow. It made bile rise up in her throat. She didn’t deserve it, any of it.

“Sam?” He knelt in front of her. “What’s up? Are you… You remembering something?” There was tightly controlled panic in his voice, like he was trying to reign it in until she confirmed his fears.

For a few seconds, Sam wanted to scream. She wanted to lay out all her twisted feelings and sick desires, inviting his judgement. But… She couldn't. She couldn't hurt Dean like that. And she was just selfish enough to keep lying to him. 

"Nothing," she managed to say. "It was nothing. Just a nightmare."

Dean looked sceptic. "Sammy…"

"It was a nightmare, Dean," she repeated, more firmly. Maybe if she said it enough, it would be true. 

* * *

Dean did everything he could,  _ everything,  _ to keep Sam safe, to keep Hell from invading her mind, to keep her sane and whole. But it wasn't enough. Because in the end, all it took was the softest touch of Cas' fingers. Sam crumpled and all Dean could do was catch her. 

* * *

In the back of her mind, Sam Winchester knew that this was who she was. And yet not. The rundown motel room, the two beds, the cop board on the wall, the multiple licenses and IDs- they were all a part of who she was- even the Impala, it’s weapons-filled trunk, the comfort of the shotgun in her hand. But it wasn’t the sum of her. There was something missing- the man with the green eyes, the one who called her  _ ‘Sammy’ _ .

She had to remember that too, had to remember everything.

Unfortunately, her evil twin was smirking at her and Sam didn’t know whether to be scared, confused, or just plain tired.

“I must be hallucinating,” Sam whispered.

“Almost,” was the answer. “But see, normally, you’re awake when you’re tripping balls.”

“I’m dreaming?”

“Bingo.” The doppelganger started walking, stalking around her. “You been juiced, baby. We’re inside your grapefruit.”

The words resonated in her, like the phrasing was familiar to her.  _ (I’m inside your grapefruit, Sam. You can’t lie to me) _ . “I, I don’t, understand,” Sam stammered, even as they circled around each other.

“Well, your BFF Cas brought the Hell wall tumbling down,” the woman said. “And you, pathetic infant that you are, shattered into pieces.” She pointed the gun at her. “Piece.” At herself. “Piece.”

_ (Well, rest assured, when this is all over, I will save Sam. But only if you stand down.) _

Sam shook her head in confusion. The doppelganger looked just like her, but there were a few things off. Her smile was too cavalier, her words too practical. Her stance was too confident and self-assured, even her cheekbones seemed more prominent. She was even looking down at Sam, somehow, despite obviously being the same height.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sam tried to say.

“Well, that’s ‘cause you’re jello, hon,” she replied. “You have no memories, you’re saddled with a soul. Me?” She spread her arms in a self-congratulatory way. “Back when I was in charge of this meatsuit, it was smooth sailing. I was sharp, strong.” She tilted her head to the side a bit, another gesture that looked almost familiar, and her lips twitched into a sneer. “I can’t imagine Dean is entirely happy with you, you know.”

Something in Sam’s gut twisted.  _ Dean. _ The name resonated within her and, without a doubt, Sam knew it belonged to the green-eyed man she’d almost remembered in the motel.

“I mean, sure, you’ve got your soul back, you’re all emotional and dewy-eyed again. But…” She sounded musing, mockingly thoughtful. “I think he might have realized by now how much trouble you are and how much you’re not worth it. Now, I don’t want to tell you exactly what he and I got up to, but-” She winked. “-I have a feeling he’ll appreciate me more this time around. So, you know, it’s nothing personal, but I’d like to get back to him and someone’s gotta take charge around here anyway.” She shrugged and her next words sounded genuinely reassuring. “Don’t worry. I’ll watch his back.” She riased her gun.

Sam ran, instinct driving her zig-zag path  _ (Never run straight, kid, ya don’t wanna give ‘em no easy target, run, RUN FASTER, damn it, you got height and length of stride, use it.) _

__ She had no idea who the voice in her head was, but it was good advice and she kept running, narrowly dodging bullets fired by an impeccable markswoman. As she ran, she remembered the gun in her jacket. She paused behind a tree, bringing it out of the pocket.  _ Taurus,  _ she thought.  _ PT91AFS, nickel-plated, pearl grips, hooked trigger guard, frame mounted saf- _

“Come out, come out, wherever you are,” the sing-song voice echoed around her, in her head.

Sam had an idea. She was pretty sure it would work.  _ (Okay, well, considering our circumstances, I’d like a little better than  _ ‘pretty sure’ _ ).  _ She was really pretty sure.

She took her jacket off, draped it over a fallen log as realistically as she could, and hid. Her doppelganger walked by and Sam watched, with a sick sense of voyeurism, as she fired half a clip into the jacket. In the few seconds it took her to realize her mistake, Sam crept up behind her and, her own hands just as steady and her aim just as perfect, shot her straight through her heart.

Even dying, her doppelganger laughed. “You think I’m bad,” she taunted. “Wait till you meet the other one.”

* * *

Dean stared down at Sam. The seizure had lasted only a minute, but Dean didn’t think that was any sort of good news. Not when it could mean several days to Sam.

But there was nothing he could do, nothing but stay by her side and keep stroking the back of her hand, or the length of her fingers, or her hair, and hope that it was reaching her somehow, soothing her through whatever was happening inside her head.

And, fantastically enough, he prayed. Even if it would mean that Sam remembered everything from Hell and her soulless self, Dean still prayed that she would wake up.

* * *

It was an odd feeling, a mix of completeness and despair. Her soulless self wasn’t separate from her, as Dean had so insisted. They were just parts. Parts of Sam.

And speaking of Dean…

Sam breathed out slowly as she drove down the Axis Mundi of her head to Sioux Falls. Her hands clenched tightly around the steering wheel, knuckles white as images- _memories_ of Dean flew past her thoughts. The roughness of his palm over her thighs, the darkness of his lust-blown gaze, the softness of his lips soothing over the sting of his bite…

Sam swallowed back the feeling of disgust. Maybe her soulless self had been right. Maybe Dean wouldn’t want her back. Why would he, after Sam had basically manipulated him into sex, when he’d been ecstatic over having her back and simultaneously pining for Lisa? It was almost the same thing Ru- the demon had done to her, while Dean had been in Hell.

The sudden bout of rage made Sam choke, made her want to aim her gun at something, preferably herself, and shoot.

Hmm… So this was what the combination of her soul and the memories of her life did to her. It turned her into a furious, hateful, storm of a person.

Sam had a good guess what the  _ ‘other one’  _ would be, what memories the third Piece would contain. She wasn’t sure she wanted to find out what those would do to her.

But she didn’t have a choice. Cas was opening the gates to Purgatory and Sam couldn’t leave Dean and Bobby to deal with it alone. And after it was over, if Dean realized all the ugly truths about her and wanted her to go…


	7. Chapter 7

Dean couldn’t sleep that night. He stayed up in the garage all night, fixing whatever he could, if only to keep his mind off the clusterfuck.

Cas was dead. The Leviathan hadn’t made a peep after disappearing into the water supply. Crowley was in the wind. Bobby looked so tired, so bone-deep exhausted. And Sam… Who knew what was up with her? She was hallucinating Lucifer, for fuck’s sake. There wasn’t much of a way around it

“Dean?”

He bit back a curse as he bumped his head on the open hood while straightening. “Little warning, Sam.”

Her lips twitched, like she wanted to smile, but couldn’t muster up the energy for it. “Sorry.” She looked tired, eyes sunken and skin pale under the weak lights of the garage.

“What’s wrong?” Dean asked, even as dread made him start fidgeting.

“You should have told me.” The words were soft, firm.

Dean felt the dread settle into his skin, weighing him down. “Sammy…”

Sam shook her head. “How could you?” She demanded.

“I’m sorr-”

“How could you let me do that to you?”

Dean stopped. “What?” He asked dumbly.

Sam frowned. “I manipulated you. Into sex. And you didn’t even tell me?”

Dean shook his head. “Sam, that’s not- it wasn’t your fault.”

“Dean, you can’t just say that it was a different person. It  _ was _ me. It was a  _ part _ of  _ me _ ,” Sam insisted. “I did that to you.”

“It still wasn’t your fault!” Dean exclaimed. “Soulless you didn’t have any morals, or any sense of right and wrong. She stuck with me because she wanted my help. She slept with me because she liked sex and I was right there. And I just…” He trailed off, unable still to admit his own reasons.

Sam shook her head, turning away. “You’re wrong,” she told him quietly. “She… I did know, even if I didn’t understand. And it wasn’t just because you were  _ ‘right there’ _ , Dean.”

The words made Dean’s mouth go dry. “What do you mean?”

Sam’s shoulders were tense, shaking. “I tried so hard,” she whispered. “For so many years… I tried everything to make sure you’d never know. And now…”

Dean couldn’t make sense of anything Sam was saying. There was a possible interpretation to her words that scared him to even think about, the possibility that Sam might actually want him, even now with her soul back and her mind obviously broken.

“Sam?” He whispered, hardly daring to hope. “What are you talking about?”

But Sam was no longer looking at him. Her eyes were fixed on the car, looking even paler, trembling all over. 

Dean couldn’t help glancing at the car too. “Sammy? Hey, come on, look at me!”

Hazel eyes blinked, looking through him blankly. “It’s nothing, Dean,” she said quietly. “I just… I’m sorry. For doing that to you. That’s all.”

Dean felt like he had whiplash. “Sam, no, what, wait a se-”

“You should get some sleep, Dean,” Sam said. “We have to start tracking those Leviathan tomorrow.”

Dean could do nothing but watch her walk away.

* * *

Sam didn’t fall asleep that night, tossing and turning on the couch as Lucifer tried to get her attention. He’d started taunting her when she’d attempted to talk to Dean and hadn’t let up since then.

Even when Dean came back in from the garage. He paused over the couch, looking down at her. Sam kept her eyes closed and her breathing even so he wouldn’t know if she was awake. Hell, she wished she weren’t awake. With all her memories back, the scrutiny of Dean’s ever present gaze was both a comfort and a suffocating blanket.

“You still wanna tell him the truth, Sammy?” Lucifer cackled.

Funny that she could feel his breath on her face even when he wasn’t real. Right? Right. He wasn’t real.

“Maybe ya should,” Lucifer went on, musing. “If only to see the look on his face when he finds out his baby sister doesn’t just have the hots for him- which, okay, kinda understandable- but also has  _ feelings _ .” He drew out the last word, elongating the vowels and giggling in her ear.

Sam heard Dean heave a sigh, focussing on the sounds of him settling into the mattress on the floor and trying to drown out Lucifer’s mockery instead.

“But we both know what would happen then, don’t we?” The archangel asked. “He’s always given you whatever you want. He’ll give you that too.” His voice dropped, becoming a mean snarl. “He’ll give you every last piece of himself and you’ll just take and take and take, until there’s nothing left of him. Because let’s face it: you’ve got nothing to give him in return, Sammy. Not a single damn thing.”

Sam refused to cry, refused to open her eyes and give Lucifer the satisfaction of seeing the fear there.  _ You’re not real! _ She screamed, silently for fear of alerting Dean.  _ You aren’t real, just go away! _

Lucifer just laughed.


	8. Chapter 8

Dean breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Sam was still asleep on the couch. When he’d come in from the garage the night before after their  _ ‘talk’ _ , he’d suspected she’d only been faking sleep. Now, though, she looked almost peaceful, save the slight furrow between her brows.

Dean watched her for a few seconds. Her injured hand was cradled close to her forehead and she was twitching slightly, like she was having a nightmare. Gingerly, he reached forward to shake her shoulder. “Sam,” he called softly. “Sammy.”

She jerked upright, body tense and eyes narrowed like she was ready for a fight. She focused on him almost immediately, looking harried and confused.

“That’s twelve hours straight, I’m calling that rested,” he told her. “Here: hydrate.” He held out a water bottle, then a granola bar. “And protein-ate.”

Sam took them from him gingerly, fingers brushing against his. Dean was careful not to react- it was a deliberate move, like she was testing for the feel of his hand- and turned to grab a chair instead. 

Sam sat up a little straighter. “Breakfast in bed?” She quipped, her voice too flat for the joke.

“Yeah, well, don’t get too used to it,” he replied anyway. “Let me see that hand.”

Sam shifted nervously, gaze flitting across the room. Was she having another flashback? But she let him take her hand and he gently peeled the bandage away, stroking lightly over her palm. The wound had just started to scab over and the stitches were jagged and uneven, not really Dean’s best work, almost guaranteed to scar. But, at least…

“You’ll live,” he informed her confidently and promptly poured some of Bobby’s vodka over it.

She hissed at the sting, dabbing at it with a towel.

Bobby took Dean’s chair, started to wrap a fresh bandage around her hand.

“So, ooze-invasion,” she said, like she was trying to distract herself. “Any news?”

“Why don’t we focus on our other big problem first?” Dean said testily. He leaned forward, glaring at his sister. “How you doin’? And do not say  _ okay.  _ What the hell happened to you last night?”

“I’m not okay,” Sam interrupted. “I know that. And I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you guys before, I just…” She wasn’t meeting their eyes, looking between the floor and her hands. “We already had so much to worry about. I thought I could just ride it out.”

Bobby never took his eyes off her, worry etched into every line of his face. “Well, are you still having flashbacks?”

Sam shifted, evasive. “No.”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “That’s good, right?” He already knew it wasn’t.

“It’s gotten worse,” Sam muttered. “I’m… I’m having a hard time telling what’s real.”

“Hallucinations?” Dean demanded.

Sam swallowed, nodding. “And they’ve been getting more specific.”

“Specific, how?” Dean was almost too afraid to ask.

Sam gave a tight smile, amused but humorless. “I’m seeing Lucifer. And according to him, I’m still in the Cage and all of this is just… A mind game he’s cooked up for me.”

Dean felt his mouth drop. “What the hell?”

“I know,” Sam agreed empathetically. 

“No. seriously, Sam, what the hell?!” Dean resisted the sudden urge to tug his own hair out. “How do you argue with that?”

Bobby had gotten up with a murmured, “I need a drink,” and came back with a bottle of whiskey and three glasses.

Dean took a large sip of his, if only to hide how wrong-footed he felt. “Wait, okay, wait, how about this- why would the Devil holo-deck you a whole life if he could just kick your ass all over the Cage?” Even before he finished asking, he knew the answer to his own question.

“Because, as he puts it,” Sam spoke monotonously. “‘ _ You can’t torture someone who’s got nothing left to lose.’ _ ” Again, she shifted uneasily, eyes darting around like she was casing the room. 

Dean felt a sudden stab of sorrow. “Okay, but if all this is just a Malibu dream mansion he made for you-” he was grasping at straws now, he knew it. “-then why would it be this post-apocalyptic mess?”

Sam opened her mouth to answer, but nothing came out. She swallowed nervously, looking towards the chair at the opposite wall. 

Dean followed her gaze. The chair had nothing but a pile of books on it. “Wait, are you…” Realization hit him. “Are you seeing him right now?”

Sam seemed to startle, just a minuscule flinch as she turned back to him. She nodded, then turned back to that chair.

Horror grew in the pit of Dean’s stomach. “Okay, Sam. You do know he’s not real?”

Sam stared at the chair. When she looked back at him, he was struck by how young she looked all of a sudden, with her long bangs framing her face and her eyes suspiciously shiny- like she was ten years old and pleading to come along on a hunt. “He says the same thing about you,” she whispered, sounding scared.

And not for the first time, Dean wished he could get inside Sam’s head somehow- if only to punch the Devil that existed only in her mind.

* * *

The house seemed too small, all of a sudden despite both Bobby and Dean being gone and Sam being alone.

“You think either of them are coming back?” Lucifer asked, casually playing with a knife.

Sam didn’t look up from the gun she was cleaning. "What's it to you?" She asked sullenly. 

He clicked his tongue disapprovingly. "I'm just wondering: what if neither of them ever comes back? What if you just stay here forever, waiting and waiting and waiting, even though we're pretty obviously still in the Cage?"

Sam's rhythm faltered, the gun slipping in her hand before she regained her grip. “Shut up,” she muttered. 

He stuck his tongue out at her and disappeared. Almost instantaneously, she heard the front door opening.

“Bobby?” She called, walking out.

Dean appeared instead. “No, it’s me,” he muttered. “Oh, good thinking!” He swiped her beer without warning.

Sam blinked, then sighed in frustration. She didn’t even remember drinking another beer after Bobby left. “You’re back early,” she commented.

“Yeah, I followed the trail all the way back here,” Dean told her. “They’re holed up in a building just a couple minutes from here. There’s too many of them, I need back-up.”

“Oh, well.” Sam shrunk back in guilt. “Bobby’s not here…”

“Yeah, I know, it’s gotta be you,” Dean said.

Sam frowned. He sounded upset about it, but… Well, she couldn’t exactly blame him. “You sure?” She asked.

He gave her a withering look. “Don’t let Satan change my presets,” he snapped. “Get the keys.”

“They’re with you.”

He took a deep breath. “Sam,” he spoke with infinite patience. “They’re over there.”

Sam must have missed it when he’d put the keys there. Shrugging, she pocketed them and followed her brother out.

* * *

There were too many sensations, too much input.

The sound of sirens, the piercing light of a torch, Dean’s voice calling her name, the throbbing in her head, the warm wetness of blood…

And above it all, Lucifer, standing near her feet. 

_ No, _ Sam tried to say.  _ No, this isn’t real. I’m out! _

Lucifer smirked. “Hey, so maybe I’m not real,” he agreed with a shrug. “Nobody’s perfect.”

She tried to tune him out, tried to turn her head so she wouldn’t have to look at him, tried to turn to Dean because he was still calling her name and if she could prove that he was real, then that meant Lucifer wasn’t.

“But guess what?” The Devil went on with a grin, his gentle tone somehow carrying through all the din. “I’m not going anywhere.”

**Author's Note:**

> My Tumblr: kassyscarlett


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